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JOAN AT HALFWAY 

GRACE McLEOD ROGERS 



^ JOAN 

AT HALFWAY 

BY 

GRACE McLEOD ROGERS 

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NEW 



GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




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COPYRIGHT, 1919, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


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©C1A535076 ^ 

Recorded 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


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TO MY AUNT JOSEPHINE 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGH 

I To Fetch a Pail of Water 11 

II My Lady Goes A-Driving 20 

III Proving the Wisdom Blood 26 

IV The Freedom of the Office 33 

V Roadside Dreams 43 

VI Captain Nat Holds His Own 52 

VII Life’s Stores of Experience .... 62 

VIII The Meadow Island 75 

IX Skipper Jane’s Daughter 90 

X And Who Is Lisbeth? 102 

XI The Road to Meadow Island . . . .112 

XII It Must Be Philip’s Grandchild . . . 126 

XIII A Long Lost Letter 141 

XIV The End of a Lovely Day 149 

XV A Gipsy’s Encampment 156 

XVI Sweet Fields Beyond 170 

XVII The Gay Car of Pleasure 183 

XVIII Storm Clouds Blow Over 197 

XIX Rough Sailing 214 

XX Aunt Hetty Visits Town 224 

XXI Nothing Haps to Fearless Feet . . . 234 

XXII “Do What You Set Out to Do” . . . . 241 

XXIII The Mystery of the Mill 248 

XXIV Aunt Hetty’s Home-Coming 259 

vii 


CONTENTS 


viii 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXV In the Joy Her Spirit Fled 270 

XXVI A Land with Radiant Glory Fraught . . 279 

XXVII Youth’s Vision Splendid 291 

XXVIII Joan Is Mistress at Halfway .... 305 

XXIX Stories of the Loom Room 322 

XXX An Island Lacking Water 336 

XXXI The Unfinished Web of Cloth .... 353 

XXXII Dispossessed of His Heritage .... 363 

XXXIII Wooden Water-Piper 377 

XXXIV The Water Flows Back to the Island . . 392 

XXXV A Gay and Singing Heart 405 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 









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JOAN AT HALFWAY 


CHAPTER I 


TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATER 


J O-AHH — Jo-ann !” 

Uncle Garret’s voice was querulous and thin. Its 
volume had fled with his youth and strength; moreover it 
ended in a snarly twitch, as if a sudden twinge of pain had 
shorn it of its full intent. 

Uncle Garret was sitting on the side verandah. The 
splint-hottomed chair, which usually supported his rheumatic 
leg, was untenanted; both the strong limb and the ailing 
one resting upon the floor. Uncle Garret could not 
lift the lame leg himself, and that was one of the reasons 
why he had been willing to have J oan come to Halfway, but 
it was not the main reason. That main purpose he kept to 
himself, only making answer to those who questioned, that 
he had got her for help and company. Uncle Garret was 
Stipendary Magistrate, and disabled as he had been of late 
by rheumatism, surely needed help, young eyes and willing 
feet and deft hands. 

And she ought to be around in sight when he wanted her, 
especially when Aunt Hetty was not at home; where could 
she be loitering ! He called again, three times, in his thin, 
sharp voice. 

“ Jo-ann, J o-ann, Jo-an-n !” The last call was piercing, and 
full of twitches and twinges. Joan on her way to the spring 
for water, heard it, and recognising the pain in it, came 

11 


12 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


hurriedly back across the garden. Dropping her empty pail 
upon the steps, she stooped to lift the lame limb to its usual 
easy posture. 

“Leave my leg where it now is,” commanded Uncle Gar- 
ret, “I’ve got enough of the spirit of a man left in me to 
want to manage my own legs, when I’m able, and when I’m 
not able I’ll let you know. I want this leg left in a re- 
cumbent position. Do you understand?” 

Joan understood, and she sat down herself in the com- 
fortable old splint chair which seemed to hold out its arms 
to her like a real friend here in this strange and lonely place. 
“What did you want, then, Uncle?” she asked timidly. 

“I want you around,” said the old man, “in sight and 
sound. Why didn’t you call back when first you heard me ? 
You’re the stillest girl I ever knew. Your Aunt Rebecca 
could have told me all she had done the whole day and in- 
tended to do on the next, while she came across the garden. 
You look as if you could talk. We’re not a mum race; are 
you sulking ? Why did you bring back an empty pail ?” he 
added suddenly, as his gaze fell upon the bucket at his feet. 

“I hadn’t got to the spring when you called, and I came 
back.” 

“Then go now again and fill it,” aaid he. “Always do the 
thing you set out to do. Never let yourself be turned aside 
from your purpose. We Wisdoms stick to our own plans 
and carry them out, too, no matter who interferes nor whom 
we knock down on the road. And do make a noise, hit the 
pail against the fence, or shout, or do something to get your 
tongue loose, and to make a sound around here. I’ve been 
alone an hour or more, and I want you to talk to me when 
you come back. I got you for company, do you understand ?” 

Joan was not sure if she did, but she liked the sudden 
cessation of hostilities indicated by his odd demand; and 
half in dread and half in defiance she turned and looked 
steadily into the stern old face of her inquisitor, from out 
which his blue eyes shone clear as a bit of Heaven’s own 


TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATER 


13 


sky — tender, kindly, friendly eyes, mayhap, if yon ever dared 
meet them in like guise; stern and mocking and pitiless, if 
you feared them — they, and the broad high brow above them 
like a temple’s dome, the sole features left unmarred in the 
pain lined visage. Her own had always fallen before their 
glance, but this time they held and challenged; the orphan 
friendless girl claiming not by appeal but by inherent right 
of race, his interest and his love. 

They each found a friend in the survey, though neither of 
them knew it outright, but the fear and the awe of him for 
the moment seemed to slip away from Joan, and a smile 
hovered about the corners of her firm set lips at the queer 
request — the little crooked Wisdom smile, that might turn 
into a laugh and might not ; you were never just sure. And 
as she passed down the side path of the garden she bumped 
the bucket regularly against the picket fence. But when 
she reached the spring she threw the pail to the ground and 
burst into a passion of crying ; so near are our smiles, some- 
times, to our tears. And the little crooked Wisdom smile 
is often just a mere bravado. 

Uncle Garret heard the thumps upon the pickets. He 
could not hear the later sobbing, and he muttered to himself 
as he rolled the tobacco for his pipe, a She’s Jo-ann over 
again, and my mother too. She’ll be sociable enough, if she’s 
like them, sociable enough once she lets her real self out. 
She’s holding back, now, stubborn, proud — a bird of the 
feather all right; looks, and speech and high step” — and 
Uncle Garret in the stupor of his pipe fell to memories of 
the past, and forgot the passage of time. 

Down at the spring Joan was still sobbing. The little 
hollow was not a restful place of beauty ; it was barren and 
solitary, but was the one spot of refuge from the big, high, 
bleak old house, where no querulous call could reach her, 
nor eye obtrude. A little clump of forlorn larches stretched 
their gaunt arms seaward, though the engirdling hills that 
cupped the spring had long aeons since shut the sea from 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


14 : 

siglit ; a tongue of grey primordial sand tliat lapped the ver- 
dured slope of the lowest hill and bordered the outlet ravine, 
all that betokened its one time nearness. But though the 
sea was twelve good miles away, beyond the hilltop rims, 
Joan thought she could sometimes smell it here when the 
wind blew strong from thence, and the salt sniff was like a 
breath of delight to her desire, for never before had she lived 
out of its scent nor the sound of its swish, and the landlocked 
little village seemed a prison. 

To be truthful she had seen the village hut once, as yet, 
and that as she passed through it on the mailcoach on the 
early morning of her arrival. Uncle Garret’s great old grey 
house was four miles from the Settlement, and up from the 
road at that, a hundred yards and more, at the end of a 
broad lane bordered with yellow pine. 

There had been no one down at the high stone-hung gates 
to greet her. “I’d walk up to Halfway with you,” the mail- 
man had said, in friendly proffer of civilities, as he set her 
small box by the roadside, “but His Majesty’s mail, it’s 
supposed to keep a moving on always. The Squire he’ll be 
up at the house all right, for he’s hitched close at home with 
rheumatiz these days, has it pretty bad, off and on — more on 
than off I guess. You’ll find your way up all right.” And 
clambering to his high-backed box seat, with a crack of his 
whip to his sorrel pair, he and the mailcoach were out of 
sight along the old post-road that rolled away to places far 
beyond. 

But the other passenger had said something to the mail- 
man, and J oan had heard it, quick though they were in de- 
parture. He had been in survey of her, as she stood by 
the high gates in the chill morning mist ; her small, dark oval 
face, the deep pure blue of her sapphire eyes shining from 
out it, and the darker setting of her black lustrous hair. 

“She’d never be lost long around these parts,” said he. 
“A Wisdom through and through ! And the thirst too, I’ll 
be bound !” 


TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATER 15 

“Sons’ sons and daughters’ sons” — replied the mailman. 
And the rest was lost in whirr of wheel and dash of hoof. 

“Sons’ sons and daughters’ sons,” — and “the thirst” — 
What did it mean, Joan wondered, as she walked up the 
long lane alone, the wet grass of the footpath soaking her 
shoes and stockings through, the wind moaning in the pine 
tops, the heavy morning mist from the meadows flooding 
the lowlands like a silent silver stream. 

And what was it that had made her feel as if she had 
been there before, on that road through the village! The 
coach had met the train at midnight, and all the long ride 
across country had been in darkness, only the lantern gleam 
at whiffletree front to track the gloom of the deep 
woods. But when they reached the village it was early 
dawn, and through the thick mist as they drove along, sud- 
denly an oak clump, in cluster of three, great spreading 
trees, stood out plain, and strangely familiar, as if she 
had sometime played under their leafy roof and searched 
out their brown cup treasures. 

On, and a bend in the road showed a river, winding, 
and clear over a gravelly bed, with a ripple sweet as music, 
and as they rumbled across its spanning bridge she felt as 
if her own feet had once been upon it. But the mist 
swallowed it from sight behind her, and the horses sped 
along. 

And there was a brown, weather-beaten old chapel, with 
a towered belfrey — and farther on a big square one with 
double tier of windows, and tapering spire, and she seemed 
to be expecting to see them. As they slipped from her view 
they were like a bit of a dream, those familiar recurrent 
ones, that persist, in our brains, over and over, making us 
conscious only when waking from out them that we have 
been to that place again — just the brief fleeting tantalising 
familiar impression, and it is gone — perhaps not to come 
again for months, sometimes years. 

Then Joan had found herself watching and waiting for 


16 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 

another sight, peering out on either side, not visualising, 
hut looking for something, and suddenly it met her gaze, a 
narrow road at her right, trailing down through the thick 
woods, a grass grown road, not a single waggon track to 
scar its narrow way, and a great steep hill clothed in pines, 
at one side. A turn hid it from further view, and from 
there on all the way was new, and the strange dream sensa- 
tion of sights was gone. And the heavy mist had turned 
to rain, coming down in a torrent shower upon the cover 
above her head, and splashing in at the unprotected sides, 
Joan at the driver’s behest sitting in the middle of the seat, 
forgetting all else but to keep dry, till they were at Half- 
way, her journey’s end. 

How she had been here a week and a day, and though 
she had food and shelter, she did not yet feel welcome, for 
Aunt Hetty had a still tongue in her head, and Uncle Gar- 
ret a sharp one in his, and they were all three on edge, 
feathers bristled, senses alert, getting adjusted, finding a 
common centre — and the process was not pleasant, at least 
not to J oan, though she had not given way to tears until now. 

When she finally ceased her sobbing, and in the o’er 
brimming rivulets from the cool spring had washed the 
traces from her face and eyes, she turned back her steps to 
the house, evidently making up her mind to obey orders and 
be “company,” for when she had set the pail of water down 
she opened up a conversation. 

“Who is the one you called Aunt Bebecca?” she asked. 
“Does she live near here and is she my Aunt ?” 

“Your Aunt Bebecca was my first consort,” replied Uncle 
Garret with dignity. “She lives not at all, now. She is 
my deceased wife, and your Aunt Hetty, who was her sister, 
has taken her place and is my second one. She is a good 
housewife and manages Halfway well, but she is not con- 
tent to stay at home. She likes to be up and away too often. 
So I got you for company, do you understand? But you 
are not doing much at it yet.” 


TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATER 


17 


Joan was beginning to be afraid again, be looked so barsb 
and forbidding as be spoke. But sbe would never dare make 
conversation with bim of ber own accord, and sbe wanted 
to find out some more things while yet be held out the golden 
sceptre, so taking no notice of the thrust as to ber social 
delinquencies, and stifling ber fears, sbe continued ber ques- 
tioning. 

“Is Aunt Hetty a real Aunt to me V ’ sbe asked. 

“An aunt-in-law, only.” 

“Haven’t I any real ones?' The mailman who drove me 
here said I bad a lot of relatives, ‘more than some people 
have bay,’ be said. I mean the real aunts, — like — you are 
my — uncle,” sbe added hesitatingly. “Are there any 
others ?” 

“Hone to speak of,” replied the old man curtly. 

“Why, Aunt Hetty told me ” 

“Ob, so sbe talks to you, evidently !” 

“Sbe only tells me things when I ask ber about them. 
And I don’t think sbe wants me here very much. I’ve 
never been wanted, anywhere, for I’ve never bad a truly 
home. I’m always just sent to some place and when I’m 
beginning to get used to the people why then I have to go 
somewhere else.” 

“From pillar to post, eh!” said Uncle Garret, not un- 
kindly, if you could separate the words and their evident in- 
tent from the gruff, sharp tone. “Well, you’re here to stay, 
so your trotting days are over now. They were not ‘the real 
kind’ as you term it, where you stayed before you were put 
at the School, I’ll tell you that. They were only connec- 
tions, on your father’s side, and a poor lot they were; lost 
you what little property you bad and were glad to wash their 
bands of you and send you on to me when I made enquiries 
about you.” 

Joan winced at the thrust, and turned ber small dark 
face to bis, with a proud, yet wistful gesture that stirred 
old memories in the great uncle’s heart. 


18 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“ I thought you asked me!” she said, “and I never knew 
I had what you call property. Nobody ever told me that be- 
fore. I thought people just kept me because I helped them. 
And I had to work hard, at the School, to pay for it. We 
stayed and worked summers on the farm. It was that kind 
of a school, for girls who didn’t have any home, or any 
money.” 

“Well, you hadn’t much. When your parents lost their 
lives at sea, you and the few hundreds they left you were 
placed with some of your father’s tribe. Properly looked 
after it might have been enough for bread and meat, and 
school, till you could earn for yourself. But near as I can 
find out they kept the money for themselves, and passed 
you around from one to another, fetching and carrying for 
them ; and it’s my opinion that the only reason they sent you 
to school was because they recollected about me, and thought 
I was getting old, and if you were a promising girl, and had 
some education, that I might leave my property to you, for 
them to get hold of. But I’m not going to do it, and you may 
as well know it first as last. I’ll give you a good living, but 
all I have, goes when I am done with it, to found an old man’s 
Home. Do you understand ?” 

If Joan did, or did not, she made no answer, and the 
old IJncle talked on. 

“They never were any good, your father’s folks — Wis- 
doms in name but only ‘half’s,’ and your mother shouldn’t 
have married into them again, as her own mother did be- 
fore her. Too much of one strain does not make for strength, 
though you’re no fool, as anybody with half an eye could 
see. They were an easy-going lot, that branch of us, most 
of them, with no proper standard as to what befit the name ; 
handsome and good company, but no fight in them, had no 
backbone, nothing but a string for one — wouldn’t stand up 
for their own rights.” 

It stung the girl, young as she was, the scorn in his voice, 
and she turned quickly to him and met the hard old gaze 


TO FETCH A PAIL OF WATEP 


19 


again. “Why is it good to have so much fight in you ?” she 
asked; “you don’t have to fight everybody and everything 
do you ?” 

“To get on in the world, you do, or you’re left behind in 
the race, and trodden upon. You have it within you, your- 
self, I see, or you wouldn’t have spoken up as you did, and 
shown your spirit. We’ll maybe get on quite well, if you’ll 
wake up. Now fill my pitcher,” said he abruptly, “and take 
the pail on into the entry, or it will not be fit to use to-night. 
No, wait a bit, give me a drink first.” And the old man 
reached out an eager hand for the cocoanut dipper that lay 
on the table beside his pitcher, and plunging it deep into the 
brimming pail, he drained off its contents at a single quaff, 
once, and again, and yet again. 

Joan watched him, strangely fascinated, and with a clutch- 
ing thirst in her own throat at the sight. She would like to 
drink that way herself, for it had seemed to her ever since 
she had come to Halfway and seen the great quantities 
of water that Uncle Garret drank, that she could never get 
enough to quench her own thirst. Perhaps, if she should 
drink a great deal at one time, as he did, her craving would 
get its fill. 

So, when she had presently lifted the pail to the comer 
shelf in the cool dark entry, she took from the nail above 
it the big brown mug that always hung there, and drank 
it full, three times, just as Uncle Garret had, at a swallow 
each. 


CHAPTER II 


MY LADY GOES A-DRIVING 

W HEU Joan awoke next morning, Aunt Hetty was 
standing in the bedroom doorway. “You’d best get 
up, now,” said she ; “your Uncle does not like lay-abeds.” 

Joan sprang shamefacedly from the big fourposter and 
began at her shoes and stockings. 

Aunt Hetty came over and stood by the little swivel mir- 
ror that set atop the high chest of drawers, so high that Joan 
could not see herself at all in its oval face, and even Aunt 
Hetty had to stand on tiptoes to it. Joan noted that she 
had on her bonnet and veil, and was tying the strings in a 
snug bow beneath her chin. “Is it very late?” she asked, 
anxiously, fearful that she had perhaps slept through the 
forenoon, if Aunt Hetty was ready for away. 

“It’s early enough,” replied Aunt Hetty in her placid 
absent sort of voice, that trailed off into space often before she 
got out her last words. “I’m getting a good start. Your 
Uncle had his sciatica bad last night, never slept a wink, 
groaning and tossing. He’ll be dozy and not get up till 
near noon. It is Phoebe’s two days a week here, and she 
wants nobody else around when she’s working, so I am get- 
ting off on my visit downriver, for I’m not needed so much 
for company now that you’re here.” 

Alone all day with Uncle Garret! Why need she go 
visiting so often, leaving him to other people! Joan looked 
her dismay. 

Aunt Hetty while talking had been turning over in her 
mind just how freely she should speak. The family skele- 

20 


MY LADY GOES A-DRIVIHG 


21 


ton did not stay in its closet, at Halfway, but stalked about 
in plain sight of everybody, so wby try to evade its actuality 
with this new member of the household, thought she. And 
so as if J oan’s wondering dismay had been expressed speech, 
Aunt Hetty made answer. 

“The only way I can get off is to go, and let him make 
the best of it when he finds it out. I’d never get my foot 
outside Halfway if I waited for consent or proposal. I’m 
getting on in years, and my time is too short to put off any 
longer doing the things I want to do. Living as I did for 
so long away from these parts I lost track of many of my 
old friends, and it takes quite a spell to hunt them up. 
That was why I was willing to let you come, to be some help 
to your Uncle while I’m off.” 

Joan shrank at the plain speech; and the dear dream of 
being invited for love alone by these new-found relatives, 
was forever shattered. It was going to be just as it always 
had been before, for service only ! 

Aunt Hetty finally adjusted her bonnet strings to her taste, 
pulled over her face the long embroidered veil, and draw- 
ing her gloves from her pocket sat down in the chintz barrel- 
chair to rub them on. Evidently she was not in immediate 
haste, and someway, quiet and distant though she had been 
all the week, she looked rather friendly this morning to the 
lonely young girl who was hurrying with feverish haste lest 
she should not be ready and dressed to answer that shrill 
call that might suddenly sound from below. Was Aunt 
Hetty afraid of him as she was, Joan wondered. Presumably 
not, or she would not dare his displeasure by going away so 
much. 

“Will Phoebe know me ?” she queried, as she braided her 
long black hair. 

“What Phoebe doesn’t know at the start she’ll soon find 
out,” answered Aunt Hetty. “She’ll tell you about every- 
thing and everybody, if she wants to, and if she does not 
want to she’ll let you alone. You can never count on Phoebe, 


22 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


she has her own ways — hut we humour her, and she takes 
full charge while Fm gone. It’s always easier to get on 
with your Uncle after she’s been here, for they fight all the 
time, and some of it gets out of his system that way. She 
enjoys rowing with him, hut I wouldn’t wonder if she does 
it too to ease us up. Phoebe has eyes in the hack of her head 
all right” — and Aunt Hetty’s voice trailed off again from 
the effort of her long speech, and she turned as if listening 
for some signal from below. None forthcoming, she talked 
on. 

“Phoebe’ll clear out his rooms, and pull him out on the 
veranda, if he’s able, that is her weekly stint — and the 
meals, and baking ahead, and sweeping the house. She used 
to live here herself when she was a girl, half help, half folks 
she is, and knows every nook of it.” 

“Pd love to see it all through,” said Joan. 

“It’s a big fine old place,” said Aunt Hetty, “rooms 
up this flight that are never opened and the third story 
not used at all, and an attic above that. I like a big house 
better than a little one, hut it’s clear pride to build one the 
size of this. They were always proud and masterful, the 
Wisdoms, and all around the country here they had their 
homes — one house was high and slahsided, one long and low, 
another spread out, hut all of them boastful and full of rooms. 
And those that built them are dead and gone, and the family 
is nearly run out, as far as name and blood and house going 
together. This chamber was your grandmother’s — and the 
loom-room opens off it — she was a great hand at weaving. 
You’re like her in looks.” 

Here Aunt Hetty abruptly ceased her talking. Joan had 
lost many of the words as they strained off in that absent 
dreamy voice, yet as she listened, suddenly the fleeting, 
dreamlike fancy had come again, and she thought she could 
see inside some of those Wisdom houses, into one of them 
plainest, with a wonderful upstairs parlour that had no 
corners, a round room — and then it was gone again as 


MY LADY GOES A-DRIVHSTG 23 

quickly. But the bewilderment of it was still in her face as 
Aunt Hetty rose to go. 

“There is my call,” said she. “Pelig has been getting out 
the new top-buggy for me. It’s never been used since your 
Uncle got it, simply because he can’t go in it himself. The old 
chaise is broken and my own mare lame so there was noth- 
ing else to be done. There’ll likely be a fuss when he finds 
out, for if Phoebe has eyes in the back of her head your 
Uncle has ears all down his neck and he always knows every- 
thing that goes on. But it will be well blown over by the 
time I get back, and a stew is never as hot warmed over.” 

The girl looked in amazement at the mild-voiced little 
Aunt who dared such bold deeds and braved such a storm of 
temper as would undoubtedly descend upon her later on. 

“I’ll be away until to-morrow,” said Aunt Hetty as she 
turned from the bedroom. “If Pelig is not around, you’ll 
maybe have to go down to the post-office to get the mail. 
It’s ‘Free Press’ day, and your Uncle would sooner miss his 
supper than the Tree Press.’ He, and Johnson who runs 
it haven’t spoken to each other since last election, but he 
reads every word, even though he’s against it all. We get 
•our mail at the Corner, not at the River. They’ll tell you 
the way. Your Uncle’s cousin Alexander keeps the office. 
He’ll do some quizzing when he get his eyes on you.” 

Joan presently heard the rumble of outgoing wheels, and 
she had just completed her dressing when the shrill call came 
sounding up the winding stairs, and out through the hall 
to the chamber that had been her grandmother’s. She 
hastened down, but had not reached the wing-rooms where 
was Uncle Garret’s bedroom and office, when she was barred 
the passage by Phoebe. 

“You get your breakfast first,” commanded the woman, 
“and I’ll tend to him for a while. He’s that mad he’d bite 
nails this morning, and you’ll need something in your 
stomach to stay you — your meal is laid out.” 

Phoebe! thought Joan, though she did not like to look 


24 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


straight at the stranger, and it was dark in the entry-way. 
It must he Phoebe, and oh, what a good Phoebe! Never 
in her life before had such a bountiful breakfast been spread 
her. Her eager hungry lonely eyes took it all in at a glance 
— porridge and yellow cream, baked apples, and curds, and 
patty-pancakes, warm and crispy at the edges ! Phoebe must 
have been here hours, to do these things. And other de- 
licious whiffs crept in from the kitchen. 

Youth is ever joyous at heart, though sorrow may touch 
at eye and lip, and in spite of forebodings and loneliness 
it was just a hungry happy sixteen year old girl who ate 
that breakfast. She was nearly through when the woman 
came in and placed a plate of biscuits upon the table — not 
round ones, hut oblongs and diamonds and nubbins of no 
shape at all, each of them brown and flaky. Joan had been 
used to round biscuits, cutter limit pattern, with no possible 
variance, like the ugly school hours, and all her plain and 
dreary life behind — but these jumhly things so delicious in 
smell and look, where had she eaten them before! some- 
where, once, somewhere, a curious tantalising impression; 
and when she glanced up to meet the gaze of the tall person 
who stood looking down upon her, the stranger’s face was 
someway an association of the memory. 

“Pm Phoebe,” said the woman, “and you’re called Joan 
Wisdom, they tell me. By your looks it couldn’t well he 
anything else.” 

Joan started to rise in greeting, hut Phoebe waved her 
hack. “You’re the fourth one of them,” said she, “and they 
haven’t been an overly happy line, but that’s not saying 
you’ve got to be like them, though I’d take a better chance 
on it if your likeness wasn’t so strong. They’re a terrible 
family to sort of persist, and you can always pick them out 
by their black head, or a blue eye, or that wrinkle of yours 
in the nose, or their hot temper. The real name is scarce 
now, but still you have to look all round before you say Wis- 
dom, in these parts, for there’s a hit of the blood in most 


MY LADY GOES A-DMVIJSTG 25 

every family, more or less, and the less the better, though 
I’ll admit I’ve a few drops myself. 

“Your Uncle Garret is the most cussed one of the lot. But 
I’m not afraid of him, even in his worst tantrums. 

“After you get up his spring water, you go do your room, 
and I’ll see to him till he’s able to he moved out. He’ll not 
brow-heat me !” And Phoebe was gone before the girl could 
even get in one word of comment or question. 

“It’s like Uncle Garret does,” thought Joan. “They’re 
done talking so sudden, and that’s the end of it, and it’s a 
queer way, but I like it, for most people take so long to tell 
things, and talk on and on.” And though she did not know 
it herself, it was her own way, too, and a Wisdom way. 


CHAPTER III 


PROVING THE WISDOM BLOOD 



HE gods were always kind around where Phoebe was, 


1 something beneficent surrounding and emanating from 
her comfortable capable presence. If the drop of Wisdom 
blood gave a thorn prick now and then, she always took the 
sting out later on with some kindly word or deed. Every 
household where she temporarily tarried would fain have 
pressed her into continual abiding, but Phoebe was nothing if 
she was not her own mistress. For days, or weeks, as the will 
took her, she would stay in some home needing her compe- 
tent administration, and then she was off to another, or hack 
to her own. 

“ I get the news that way, and keep acquainted, and no 
one tires of me, nor I of them,” she would say. 

To hear her in racy recital of some of their doings, you 
might think she told all she gathered. Hot she. Wild horses 
couldn’t drag out of Phoebe what she judged was best kept 
to herself. 

And the drop of Wisdom blood held her head high. She 
was no mere hired help, hut help spelled in capital letters, 
clear through — what the threshing machine was to the farmer 
with waiting grain — the portable mill to the lumberman with 
logs piled high — the Commission and chairman thereof for 
some tangled and disputed government problem. 

Securely a-seat the mower, she cut always the first swath 
around her own hay fields. Her well-kept roofs on house 
and barn were shingled by herself. The same capable hands 
had woven her blankets and carpets and linen; not tied alone 


26 


PROVING THE WISDOM BLOOD 


27 


to such homely tasks, they knitted fine lace and spreading 
quilts, and embroidered in gay worsteds the ottomans and 
lamp mats and cushions adorning the little front room of her 
one-story house. While she did all these, her shrewd brain 
turned over the problems of state that reached the quiet ham- 
let, with her own caustic opinion upon each, for Phoebe had 
a mind of her own, an independent judgment, and clear eyes, 
a Radical, mayhap, hut from such come our Reforms. She 
always talked politics with the men of the houses where she 
tarried, many a pungent digest passed off later as their own, 
emanating from herself. And though she may have got 
left out when the good looks were going round, her comeli- 
ness was not to he judged by features alone, for a whimsical 
expression of eye and lip lent lustre to her face, and the 
ready wit and the vim of her spirit more than atoned for 
her plain make-up. 

Sensing that Uncle Garret’s room was a dull and hard 
abode for a young girl on a summer’s day, Phoebe by one 
device and another — rhubarb to pluck, chickens to feed, 
raisins to stone, wiled away the forenoon, and Joan had only 
been in and out for sudden calls, when dinner was over, and 
it was time to go for the mail. 

Uncle Garret was beginning to be drowsy again, but he 
had been in a high temper all the morning, for his rheuma- 
tism was bad ; and no man, though he faces a lion or a sud- 
den danger in glorious and splendid courage, can bear with 
patience bodily pain. Uncle Garret did not even try to 
bear his, he cast it off with unstinted measure upon every- 
body in sound or sight. “He’d swear the legs off an iron 
pot, he’s that taken up with his miseries to-day,” commented 
Phoebe as she answered a strident call from the wing-rooms. 
And Joan could hear him giving her some reiterated com- 
mand, their shrill altercation, and presently her own name 
called. But she was not allowed to answer the summons. 

“You stay out here,” said Phoebe, blocking her entrance, 
as in the early morning, “and go send Pelig to him.” 


28 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“Who is Pelig, where is he?” asked Joan, then recalling 
Aunt Hetty’s mention of him getting ready for her the top- 
buggy. 

“He’s out in the back region somewhere,” said Phoebe, 
“just got back from the woods. I’ll likely find him quicker 
myself.” And soon there came following her back through 
the rooms a red-headed, slouchy-limbed young fellow, heavy 
of build and feature. He touched a lock of his ruddy hair 
in salute as he passed Joan, glancing rather curiously and 
quite composedly too, at the young stranger who had come 
to Halfway in his absence. 

“This is Pelig,” proffered Phoebe in introduction. “He 
helps Hiram out with the farming this summer. He’s been 
off in the woods sighting timber, but you’ll see more of him 
later along,” and marshalled by her leading he and Phoebe 
went on to Uncle Garret’s room. After a short period of 
stormy words the sound of which reached out even to where 
J oan sat, the youth returned, but made no pause as he passed 
her by, and presently Phoebe herself emerged. 

“It’s about his old chariot,” explained she. “You’d think 
he was keeping it to ‘go up’ in! He found out she’d taken 
it, and summoned us all to court, for witnesses, but though 
I don’t know law, I know you shouldn’t be allowed to tell 
tales and testify against your Aunt Hetty. I overheard her 
talking to you this morning about it, and though I’m no 
special admirer of hers, she’s a harmless sort, with her ever- 
lasting patchwork piecing and her visiting bump, and it’s 
not fair for you to give her away, as you would have maybe 
had to do if that old inquisitor got cross-questioning you. It 
would set her against you to know you had told tales, and I 
reckon you’ll have a hard enough row to hoe at Halfway 
without getting a wrong start with the mistress of it. One 
thing more nor less won’t count, far as Pelig and I are con- 
cerned for we’re used to Garret’s ways. He didn’t get much 
information out of Pelig; that boy has got a lot of good 
sense hid away in his red head.” 


PKOVIHG THE WISDOM BLOOD 29 

“Who did you say Pelig is?” asked Joan, a kindly curi- 
osity aroused at mention of her scape-goat. 

“He’s a farm-hand and yet he’s one of the tribe,” replied 
the woman, “and I’ll never forget the first day he came. 
Your Aunt had set his dinner out on the kitchen table, where 
all the hired men had always eaten. He was washing up 
when we three came on in here to ours, and your Uncle he 
hadn’t more than got through carving when in comes Pelig, 
his plate and knife and fork in his hand, and drawing up a 
chair from the wall he shoved over the side dishes and set 
himself down at the table. 

“ ‘Go hack to your place,’ roared the Squire. 

“ ‘This is my place,’ said he. ‘I’m kin of the family, 
and you know it, and no matter what I work at or where I 
he my place is with them if I choose to take it,’ and he 
passed up his plate for meat. 

“I was frightened, myself, for once in my life, and your. 
Aunt Hetty was white as the table cloth, for Garret held 
up the carving knife and fork, and looked clear murder. 
And then sudden he dropped them and hurst out into a big 
hearty laugh, and he put out his hand to the boy. 

“ ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘you’re right, make yourself at 
home at Halfway. You proved the blood in you, sure enough, 
and I admit the kinship. Gad, but I wouldn’t own you 
if you’d stayed in the kitchen.’ And he was better natured 
through that dinner than I’ve ever seen him before or since.” 

“Then he is a hired man, just the same, even if he is 
a relation?” asked Joan. 

“He is and he’s not,” replied Phoebe sententiously. “He 
stays mostly for meals with the people who run the farm for 
your Uncle, coming and going here as he pleases. Poor or 
rich we’re none of us such paupers as not to have a mind 
and will of our own, and though Pelig has had no chance in 
life, he’s a good keen head on him even if ’tis a red one. 
He’ll not bother you with his company unless you want it, 
but I’ve told you about him so it will help you to understand 


30 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


him. You’ll maybe need a friend here sometime, and maybe 
you could help him out, too. He can’t he more than a year 
or so older than you are, though he looks so grown, and he’s 
a great worker. It will soon be mailtime,” she added. “You 
had better go in and sit awhile with your Uncle, and get your 
orders. I guess he’s cooled off a bit now.” 

But Uncle Garret’s fire had been only smouldering. “Much 
company you are,” he flamed out as he sighted Joan. “Phoebe 
bossing and messing around me all the forenoon, and your 
Aunt Hetty off on one of her endless visits. She’s nothing 
for sociability when she is about, but a man likes his wife 
around where she can wait on him, if he clothes and feeds 
her. Her visiting days are over now, after this high-handed 
jaunt she’s off on! And you’ve been moping, I suppose, 
homesick likely,” with a sharp glance at Joan to see how 
she took it. “Go get me some fresh water. I’ll not drink 
this stale stuff Phoebe set out.” 

“You’ll drink the spring dry,” commented Phoebe who 
had entered for something and heard his command. “When 

I do we’ll tap another,” replied he . “This one has been 

bubbling for five generations of us.” 

“Then it wasn’t from fear of it running dry that made you 
cut off the Island supply,” said she. 

If this was meant for a special sword-thrust, Uncle Gar- 
ret had evidently parried the blow, for his masklike face 
gave no show of disturbance within. And J oan was soon off 
to the spring, and back again with a brimming pail, no 
loitering this time, for the prospect of a walk to get the mail 
was enticing. She had not been outside Halfway grounds 
since her arrival. 

“Fill up my jug before you leave,” said the great-uncle; 
and then snatching from her small hands the cocoanut dip- 
per with which she was making a sorry attempt at the task, 
he lifted it aloft, full to the brim, and poured with direct 
and steady flow into the small mouth of the jug, not a drop 
oversplashing. 


PEOVING THE WISDOM BLOOD 


31 


“Pour high, girl, pour high,” said he, “and there’ll he 
no dribble. Pour high and free, in all else you do in life too. 
It is those who fear, who slop over. Never fear anything 
and you’ll never dribble.” And reaching out his sound leg, 
he tipped with his foot the pail of water, still partly full, 
turning the contents upon the floor that Phoebe had made 
clean and sand-dry so short a time before. 

“Now if you want water yourself, you can go and get it,” 
chuckled he in grim enjoyment of his revenge. “You tried 

to keep it away from me all the morning Fear nothing! 

fear nobody!” repeated he. 

“You’ll be brought low some day,” said Phoebe, repair- 
ing the damage with mop and pail. “Throwing away your 
manhood you are, with such childish trickery, instead of pre- 
paring for the Judgment day.” 

He laughed, his thin rasping laugh. “Go fry my dough- 
nuts,” said he, “the water’ll dry up in time. And make 
them thick and big around, and enough of them. I never like 
doughnuts till they are old, and when they’re old there never 
are any around this house. Hetty makes them too seldom 

and too thin, and she thinks they are not good for me 

It’s not the doughnuts that hurt me, it’s the hole in them, 
that gets bigger and bigger — and she doesn’t fry the holes 
either, like Bebecca did. If I could get out there I’d show 
you how.” 

“I need no help from you on that job,” replied Phoebe. 
“What I came in first to say was that they are tearing up 
the bridge on the river road ; and the child best go the school- 
children’s path far as the crossroads. In case she might 
turn down the way to the Island you’d better make her out 
a chart to follow.” 

“I’ll give her full directions,” said he, “without your 
aid,” and he turned to Joan, who had been standing an as- 
tonished and silent witness of the old man’s outburst. The 
mute reproach in the young fresh face stirred him, as the 
woman’s sharp thrusts had not, and a faint flush swept up 


32 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


over his wrinkled countenance at her quiet survey. But 
making no excuse nor apology for his outbreak, he mapped 
out the way on a bit of paper, giving her directions as to 
what turns she must make or avoid. 

Joan loved the manner of his instructions. “It’s so short 
and so plain,” she thought. “He does things just the right 
way, and if he hadn’t such a terrible temper I might learn 
not to be afraid of him.” 

“Don’t loiter, I tell you,” he called for a last word as she 
went out the garden gate. And forgetting for the instant 
the gulf of time that swept between them, his bluff and 
harsh manner, she turned, and waved her hand back in 
friendly motion of farewell, the spirit of childhood in the 
young friendly gesture. The old man started half up from 
his chair, as her face shone out clear above the stone fence, 
the involuntary smile born of the good-bye gesture, giving 
it a light he had not before noted. 

“Gad!” he muttered, “she’s like my sister.” 

“Her as you drove off from Halfway, or the other one?” 

“Shut up,” said he, “you’re like a raven, about. Leave 
me and mine alone. Go do your work, and stay where you 
belong, woman!” 

“I stay where I see I’m needed, and I go where I’m sent 
from above, do you hear that, Garret Wisdom! And if ever 
a man needed help it’s you. If I’m to be the instrument em- 
ployed, I’ll speak out and spare not. What made you have 
her grandchild back? For no good purpose I’ll be bound. 
Some scheme in it, unless you’re beginning to repent and 
are trying to make amends. I hope it’s that, but it’s hard to 
believe. And now you can have yourself for company, for 
I’m ready to go about my work.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE FREEDOM OF THE OFFICE 

J O AH turned off the highway by the clump of pines, as 
directed, and the school-children’s path lay plain be- 
yond the stile, across the pasture lands that belonged to Half- 
way, a winding narrow path, the path of little feet. What 
a crooked wandering way the small feet had taken, when a 
straight and direct course would have led them much sooner 
to school. But who ever wanted to hurry to school — a daisy 
bloom here, there a hare-bell’s darling face, a clump of blaz- 
ing rhododendron, a ground-sparrow’s nest in a mossy hum- 
mock, or a strawberry ripe and red, had lured them aside 
as they walked; and where the first footprints trailed the 
others had followed, that they also might pluck and eat and 
gaze upon the joys of the wayside. 

In such fashion are our paths determined, and our road- 
ways made through Life, bending so, twisting and tortuous, 
and doubling back upon themselves — since who, for the sake 
of getting sooner and straighter to the end, would miss the 
hare-bells, and the berries ripe and red? 

Joan and the path almost lost themselves by the brook, 
even though stepping stones led across it. Green lush plants 
were there, Sweet Flag, Iris, and fragrant Mint. 

Joan’s mother had played there, once; her grandmother, 
also; and her great-grandmother; three Joan Wisdoms, and 
all of them had loved the brook. And behind them another, 
but not a little girl as those three, for a bride she had come 
to Halfway, on the palfrey behind her husband, from the 
big brick house in town, with a trailing spray of red rose 
from its garden across her breast, as a memory of her home, 

33 


34 


JOAN" AT HALFWAY 


a runaway bride — and no dower followed her. Just they 
two, in the wilderness, with love, and willing heart and hand, 
had set up the Wisdom name in the countryside. 

The slip of Red Rose grew, and multiplied, and was 
planted in every Wisdom garden. Hone of them know just 
why they love and tend it so, but a Wisdom man or woman, 
hard or indifferent as they may be to all else, will turn with 
brooding glance to the blowing rose so red; and every 
one of them as they bend above it can see the girl-bride, on 
the black horse, leaving home and wealth and ease behind; 
bringing from it all only the rose and the love in her 
heart, to the husband of her choice. 

She, and the other J oans were long gone, but here was a 
new one, to play beside the brook that, whether Wisdoms 
came or went, went on itself, forever — ever. 

Shut up in the big grey house all the week, it was gay to 
be out in the open again, with the green growing things and 
the blue skies that are ever the same friends no matter how 
lonely and strange all else may be, God’s great gift to all 
His creatures over all His earth. She wished she did not 
have to hurry on her errand. There were beauty spots to 
explore on either hand, but the path kept straight on, now, 
as though it had dallied long enough and suddenly remem- 
bered what it had set out to do, be a short cut across the 
country; and its course led Joan to a great hardwood hill, 
up and over and down it, beside the brook once more, then 
up over a stile, and out into the old post-road along which 
Joan had rumbled in the mailcoach that misty morning. 

She was thinking of it, and wondering if she would ever 
again ride in the highbacked box seat, when suddenly she 
came to that little narrow road with the steep hillsides 
clothed in pines, and though it bent and stretched on beyond 
her vision, she could see it for a long way in , and saw her- 
self walking it, with some one by the hand. Who was it, and 
how could she thus picture it unless she had really been 
there ! It was like striving to recall the lessons that so often 


THE FREEDOM OF THE OFFICE 


35 


had slipped from her mind at school when the stem teachers 
would question, hut those elusive things had been mere dates, 
and numbers, and letters of a word, while these others were 
like pictures in her mind’s eye, with herself a part of them. 

She wished her route lay down that narrow course. Did 
Uncle Garret have it marked on the chart he had given her \ 
Yes, it was there, just beyond the stile, with “Don’t turn 
here” printed plain upon the line. Perhaps it was what 
Phoebe had called “the Island road.” She would ask her 
all about it, would perhaps ask Uncle Garret too, if he were 
not too unapproachable. 

Flow Joan turned the bend, and came abreast the Cor- 
ner, a small cluster of buildings — one shop, a smithy, sev- 
eral dwellings, and the Post Office with sign above its bat- 
tened doorway. Hitched to rail and post along the fence 
each side the office were the couriers’ teams — two sulkies and 
a waggon, but no person was in sight about the doorway. 

Joan entered the office and stepped up to the long narrow 
wicket that set amidships among the lettered little window- 
paned boxes wherein reposed His Majesty’s mail — treasure- 
trove boxes, where you could not actually read the super- 
scriptions upon the missives enclosed, therefore making 
it doubly and deliciously possible as you peered within 
that all the contents of an “S” or an “R” were for you alone. 
Evidently there were no seekers after treasure to-day, for 
the outer office was empty. But voices sounded from some- 
where, and she approached nearer the wicket. “Is there any 
mail for Mr. Garret Wisdom ?” she asked, her voice echoing 
clear in the stillness. 

A tall large man rose from behind what seemed a pulpit- 
like structure, and came forward to the delivery window. 
He filled up the narrow opening to the very top. His glasses 
were halfway down his nose, his deep blue eyes peering out 
above them, and it seemed to Joan as if four sharp eyes 
were staring down upon her. 

“My stars and senses!” ejaculated he, pushing his head 


36 


JOAIST AT HALFWAY 


inside the wicket to get a closer view — “Who have we got 
here V ’ and reaching over he opened the communicating 
door. “Come in,” said he, “come right in, child. Why it 
must he the newcomer at Halfway! We’re glad to see you. 
Here Samuel” — to one of the three men who besides him- 
self occupied the sacred precincts of the inner office “this 
is the little girl who has come to Garret’s.” 

“The Lord help her!” ejaculated Samuel devoutly, reach- 
ing forth a friendly hand from out the mail-bag which he 
was stuffing full of papers. “Favors the name all right, a 
blind man could see that,” commented he. 

“I am your Uncle’s cousin, second or third,” said the 
Postmaster. “I forget which, I’m no hand at tracing, hut 
it makes you and me some kin all right, and I’m glad to 
see you. Sit right down in here with us, the mail is late 
to-day, George shoves along on his own gait and nobody 
can make him hurry — brought you down, he told us, about 
a week or more ago, and we’ve been trying to sort you out 
ever since; so many Wisdoms one way and another have 
gone off to other parts and raised up families and it’s hard 
to keep track of them all unless you’ve a real gift for it. 

“Here, sit up by the window,” and he swept from an 
armchair a pile of papers. “Plague those 1 Stars,’ I hate 
‘Star’ day. Every family in the countryside takes it, and it 
clutters us up so we’ve no room to be hospitable. Joel, 
come over and shake hands with our pretty lady here; and 
Stephen, get up and make your bow to her. Both of them 
your folks,” he added as Joan gave the two big men a shy 
greeting, “though farther off than even I am, but we Wis- 
doms always like to have it reckoned on, no matter how dis- 
tant. J oel, you get the papers all sorted for the routes, and 
be spry if you can, for we’re late. Samuel, you tie up the 
letters and make out the waybills, and leave me a free hand 
to look after our visitor.” 

The visitor was feeling very much at home. Something 
in the good-natured atmosphere of the back office appealed 


THE FREEDOM OF THE OFFICE 


37 


to her. Three strange men besides the Postmaster cousin, 
and yet every one of them her kindred! It almost seemed 
as if it was beginning to be like her expectations when they 
had told her at the dreadful School that she was going back 
to live with her relatives. Tossed about among so many dif- 
ferent people all her life since a babe, the prospect of be- 
ing with some one who might really love her and want her, 
had been a beautiful dream. Uncle Garret and Aunt Hetty 
had both shattered the vision, hut here were these kindly 
men, and there must be others, too. Perhaps she could dare 
ask the Postmaster about some of them. 

He was standing staring down upon her, his tall form 
erect as an oak, his arms folded high up across his broad 
breast, a puzzled look in his eyes. Suddenly his face 
brightened. “I think I’ve got you rightly placed,” said he. 
“Your Cousin Louisa, that’s my wife, was talking it over 
last night, not knowing I should so soon see you. George 
told us you had come from somewhere on the seaboard, he 
forgot the name. Garret would be your Great-Uncle, and 
you are the grandaughter of his sister Joan. She, and your 
own mother too, if I remember right, both married Wisdoms, 
not their own immediate folk, but the half-brother’s family. 
Garret was dreadfully set against his sister’s match. I don’t 
know as he had anything to do about your mother’s, for he 
was off in the gold-fields a good many years after the old 
Squire died, and Halfway was shut up. What was your 
father’s Christian name?” 

“I don’t think I know anything about him,” answered 
Joan, “you see he died, and my mother, too, when I was 
only a baby.” 

“You don’t tell me!” said Alexander kindly, “you’ve been 
without a home all that time! Well, I’m glad you’ve come 
itiere to the old place, where the family first started out. I 
never saw a truer make-up of them. Most of us are satis- 
fied with one feature or trick of manner, but I’ve been look- 
ing you over, and you’ve got them all, features and style — 


38 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and what good qualities they have, too, I haven’t a doubt,” 
he added gallantly. “The only other one I ever saw so 
strongly marked was a little girl Cousin Polly Ann brought 

back with her once ” And here the Postmaster drew his 

brows together again in puzzled thought, then unbent them 
with an illuminating smile overspreading his countenance. 

“Why, you’d be that very child,” said he. “Do you remem- 
ber ever being here, about five years old you would be, I 
reckon, and pretty young to keep it in mind, but the Wis- 
doms are powerful for remembering. Polly Ann was a 
cousin of your grandmother’s and must have had you in 
charge, and she thought maybe Aunt Debbie, where she 
brought you, would keep you, as she had no children of her 
own, but not she! Debbie’s gone now, and we won’t talk 
behind her back, but when Polly Ann went into town for 
a visit and left you behind, Debbie used to pasture you out 
on the neighbourhood, never seemed to find out herself what 
good company you were ; that was her way, she missed things 
right through life like that — cold and calculating and stern 
— what you call a Puritan. Remember the day she sent 
you down to visit us, and you threw your nightie behind the 
parlour table? We live on the road where you turn off by 
the oak clump of three.” 

Remember ! Why of course she did ! and Joan heard him 
with a riot of other recollections — That was why she knew 
those trees! and the bridge over the river! and the mill! 
But why had no one ever told her she had been here before ! 
It must have been because they had not known it themselves, 
for she had lived with strangers mostly, from “pillar to post” 
as Uncle Garret had said, and being so young it was small 
wonder the past had faded from her mind in ten long years. 
She could ask all about it, now, though, from this fine kindly 
man, her Cousin Alexander. What a lot of things he would 
be able to tell her ! And she turned eagerly toward him. 

But he talked on, giving her no opportunity of speech. 
“We should some of us have taken you at that time,” said 


39 


THE FKEEDOM OF THE OFFICE 

lie ; “I remember thinking so myself, but we all bad our own 
affairs, someway, and there didn’t seem any ‘room in the 
Inn’ for you, Wisdom though you were. We heard about 
Polly Ann’s death, soon after you went back, and I felt kind 
of conscience pricked at the word, but had forgot all about 
it since, and never connected the two of you when I heard 
Garret had taken a girl, till I saw you stand out there in 
the wicket window, and it recalled to me somebody, I couldn’t 
think who, at first. Do you recollect the time you went in 
wading in the river and lost your shoes and stockings f” 

“You don’t give her a chance to remember” — interrupted 
Samuel. “Let her have a show to speak up for herself, or 

give some of the rest of us an inning How is Uncle 

Garret to-day ? I’ll bet he’s cussing because the mail is late 
and his ‘Free Press’ delayed. Good company he could be 
too, if he’d only let himself give out what’s good in him — 
but he’s always set against somebody or something, of late, 
and bitter and hard. Got a second wife, too, how he does it 
I don’t know, I’ve only had one myself, and she wouldn’t 
live with me a day if I carried on like Garret does. I 
expect it’s largely his money and that big house, and he sets 
a bountiful table I understand. He didn’t live here when 
you were around that time, if it was really you. He was 
off to the Coast, and in the Klondike region and across to 
the old country too, I guess, was almost a stranger amongst 
us when he came back with his bride number two to end 
his days on the old place that was his father’s and his grand- 
father’s before him — shut up for twenty years or more the 
house was, and gone to wreck and ruin if it hadn’t been built 
so solid and grand.” 

“You’re not giving her any more of an opening than I 
did,” said the Postmaster. 

“I’ll soon be through,” answered Samuel. “I just want 
to ask how she gets on with Aunt Hetty. A still mouthed 
little woman, your Aunt Hetty is. Men like Garret always 
have the luck! What they need and ought to have is one 


40 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


who’ll talk up to them, hut they generally get a meek soul 
they can impose upon. What Garret Wisdom needs, and 
in my opinion he’ll never be fit for Heaven till he gets it, 
is some one to bring him to his knees.” He paused for a 
moment, and looked keenly across at the young girl. “May- 
be it’s you are to do it,” said he thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s 
why you were sent. I believe we’re all ‘sent,’ for some 
special work, but we take our own head for it and get off 
the road and out of hearing of the ‘orders.’ Maybe it’s you 
who will bring him to himself, for he has many shortcom- 
ings to answer for, and has been ‘in a far country.’ ” 

“There, there!” interrupted Cousin Alexander, “you 
shouldn’t prejudice the court that fashion. If she lives at 
Halfway long enough she’ll find out a point or two herself, 
and from what little things I remember of her that other 
time, mite though she was, I reckon perhaps she’ll be able 
to take care of herself, all right. I never said the Wisdoms 
couldn’t ever get into a hole, but I do say they can always 
get out . That day you was sent down to visit us,” said he 
to Joan, “you didn’t think you ought to take your nightie 
along, because it looked too much like asking for lodgings. 
I don’t know how you ever sensed it, young as that, but you 
did, and finding front door and parlour door both open you 
threw it way behind the round table in the parlour ; and we 
thought you had just come for the day. But when we got 
acquainted you confessed your doings, and told us how you 
felt and fared up at Debbie’s, so we took you off her hands 
for a day or two. Becollect it? And when you lost your 
shoes and stockings one time when you were in wading and 
told her the tide came up and took them off, she thought 
’twas a lie, and wouldn’t believe it was only because you 
had lived by the seashore always, and naturally thought the 
tides were in all waters — and it was the best way you knew 

to get out of that ‘hole,’ see ! That’s what I was saying ” 

But here came a sound of stamping outside, a clatter of 


THE FREEDOM OF THE OFFICE 


41 


heavy feet in the outer office, and His Majesty’s mail home 
upon the shoulders of George, filled up the little doorway. 

The Postmaster seemed concerned for a moment, then 
reaching out a hand to Joan he led her up to the pulpitlike 
structure. “Sit right in behind here,” said he. “There is 
not supposed to he anybody unofficial round when we sort 
the mail, it’s clear against the law. But we’ll have to waive 
rules this time, or break our manners, for the folks 
will soon be in for their papers and they’d stare you out of 
countenance if we put you out there on the bench. When 
you come again we’ll have you sign a form, and send it up 
to headquarters, and then you’ll be bonafide help, all right — 
good help, too, I would think.” 

“That’s all right,” assented George by a friendly nod, 
renewing his acquaintance with Joan. “Trust Alexander 
to get help out of folks, always getting a lift, he is.” 

“Hard on him having to be Postmaster, though,” said Sam- 
uel, “when he feels himself he was cut out for a parson.” 
For sitting next the pulpit, Samuel judged he should con- 
tinue a conversation with Joan while the bags were being 
unlocked and emptied. The mail for the Corner itself was 
light, but it was a distributing centre, and seven mail-routes 
radiated from the small office. 

“He was a sort of lay-preacher once,” explained Samuel, 
“licensed and all, but he preached too long and he preached 

too hard and the people wouldn’t stand for it Once a man 

from up county came in late ; Alexander was at his ‘thirdly,’ 
but seeing the man and knowing he didn’t often get to meet- 
ing, he began the sermon all over again for his benefit, and 
kept the people way past dinnertime. That was his finish, 
and he was asked by the circuit to quit. But he’s always 
hankered after meeting-houses and their appurtenances, 
and when old Zion was built over last fall he got this pulpit- 
shell, cheap, and the cushioned seat behind it, and we 
wouldn’t know how to keep office now without it. Good- 
snug place it is, and the first time that Alexander ever let 


42 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

anybody but himself sit on that mercy-seat! You look 
comfortable.” 

Joan felt comfortable. She liked to hear their speech, 
so plain and to the point, and yet so picturelike. It was 
so strange and wonderful, too, about her being here be- 
fore — that other time — what seemed to her such a very long 
while ago. And as they talked on among themselves, and 
opened, and sorted, and filled up the little lettered pigeon- 
holes with the precious missives, and the yawning canvas 
bags for the regions beyond, with others ; all the while, as she 
watched and listened, she too was sorting out the bits of 
memory, which at first seemed just like fancy. 

But before any of them had shaped plain, here was Cousin 
Alexander with the Halfway mail tied round with a string. 
“George is going to give you a lift,” said he. “Garret has 
never had to wait this long for his Tree Press/ and he’ll not 
be any too chipper over it, so you best get back quick as you 
can. George has to go round the millroad on account of the 
bridge being out. He’ll set you down at the brook and from 
there on it will be easy to follow to the stile. It’ll give you 
a chance to look up those shoes and stockings by the mill 
creek, if the tide is out!” and Alexander laughed long and 
hearty. “She never forgot it, never forgave you, always 
called it a lie, did Debbie — that’s the way with the Wisdoms 
— never forget, never forgive — we all have to fight it, and 
only the grace of God helps us out.” And with a kindly hand- 
shake the Postmaster had gone about his business, and Joan 
was once more on the high-backed box-seated waggon, this 
time in front, beside the Mailman. 


CHAPTER V 


ROADSIDE DREAMS 

G EORGE was not a communicative person, of his own 
accord, perhaps from native shyness, born also from 
the long and often solitary rides through the deep woods in 
the late and early hours of his daily route. So they “shoved 
along” rather silently for awhile, Joan still puzzling in her 
mind over the episodes the Postmaster had told her of that 
former visit, as yet mere fragments of memory, broken and 
intangible and hard to match up; her gaze roaming mean- 
time over the scenes they were passing through — orchard 
and stream and meadow, and the long driveways leading to 
the houses that were almost out of sight at the far end. 
Where she had lived her childhood years, there had been few 
sheltering trees; in the bare and ugly school town no ap- 
proach to the small new dwellings; and the air of seclusion 
and self-containment about these homes, so remote from the 
highway, instinctively appealed to the girl, who was of a 
race content and sufficient in themselves. 

“What a lot of room there is for everybody!” she ex- 
claimed, as they drove past a house perched upon the top of 
a great round hill, the roadway to it branching off the main 
thoroughfare far below, and girdling the hill to join it far- 
ther along. “Don’t you love to live here ?” she asked. 

“Someways I do and someways I don’t,” said George. “I 
haven’t been around these parts all my life, went away to 
the States when a youngster, too young, I know now, for I 
should have stayed to home and got my schooling instead of 
itching for earnings as I did. I only came back about five 
years ago, because my mother was ailing and wanted me; 

43 


u 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


she and I batch it together way down at the Bend. The 
slump came on in the States just as I was getting on my feet, 
and so I couldn’t lay anything by, and here I am now with- 
out either schooling or money to my name. But the Post- 
master threw the mail-route my way, and we get on tolerably 
well for poor folks. We’d be pleased to have you come 
down to visit us.” 

“I’ll come,” said Joan, “and I think I’d like to go into 
every house we’ve passed. Do you know who lives in them 
all, like you knew all the people we met that day I came V 9 

The mailman smiled good-naturedly down upon his pas- 
senger. “I know who lives in all the houses,” said he, “for 
they have been in the same name mostly, quite a way back, 
but I don’t know in person all the folks I meet as I drive 
along, because you don’t have to be acquainted with them to 
pass the time of day, it’s what we call ‘courtesies of the road,’ 
just a friendly how-do-you-do way that we have in the country. 
There’s another saying something like it — ‘journeying 
mercies’, which means the help we always get as we travel 
along. You see now, it’s a ‘courtsey of the road’ for me 
to give you this lift, and it’s a ‘journeying mercy’ to you to 
get it — and to me too to have it, I guess,” he finished in 
simple gallant proffer. “I wish you were going further. I 
was thinking, afterward, that I might have been more sociable 
the day I brought you down, seeing as you were alone and 
a stranger, but having a man passenger besides, kind of took 
my mind off my manners, and I’m not much of a hand to 
talk to the ladies. We’ll have to go over the route again 
sometime, and I’ll tell you who lives in all the places. Speak- 
ing of the ‘journeying mercy’ being a kind of a doubledecker 
this time, makes me think of what Captain Hat told me yes- 
terday. He was going into town and his waggon broke down 
and he had to leave it for repairs, so he started to walk on, 
and hadn’t got far when a team overtook him. 

“ ‘Can’t you give me a lift V he asked. 

“ ‘I can, but I don’t want to,’ answered the driver short 


ROADSIDE DREAMS 


45 


and gruff. But you can’t ever ruffle Nat . ‘Sometimes 

it’s good for us to do what we don’t want to,’ said he, and 
it kind of staggered the man. ‘Well, get up then,’ he 
growled, ‘and ride to the crossroads.’ But Nat wasn’t let 
out at the crossroads. ‘For I’ll be blowed,’ said Nat when 
he was telling us, ‘I’ll he blowed if he didn’t take me chuck to 
town !’ and you’d think to hear him tell it that he hadn’t a 
notion of an idea what good company he was. Why the man 
who couldn’t appreciate his ‘mercies’ in having Nat along, 
wouldn’t know if his own bread was buttered or hare!” 

This was a lengthy effort of speech for George, and re- 
flected his enjoyment of his bright-eyed, pleasant spoken lit- 
tle passenger. His inclination would have led him into 
silence for a time to collect his thoughts, but Joan was 
eager for information. 

“Who is Captain Nat ?” she asked. “Is he anybody I’ll be 
knowing ?” 

“I wouldn’t wonder. He’s some relation, but hasn’t got 
the same name as you have. That house up on the high hill 
was his place. He and his sister Hannah live there since he 
gave up sea-going. He sailed his ship once to the West 
Indies and they got the yellow- jack aboard someway; all 
of his crew took it on the voyage back. He nursed and 
buried every one of them, and brought the vessel home to 
port lone-handed; then came on with it himself. It was a 
terrible experience and kind of took the taste out of sailing, 
and so he settled down on the old place.” 

“Is it a nice place, would there be lots of things off of 
ships, up there?” 

“Wouldn’t there!” exclaimed George. “Well, I guess that’s 
just where they are — not full sized ships maybe! but full 
rigged ones in glass cases, and tiny ones in bottles, and pink 
conch-hells all around the door-steps, chunks of coral, and 
compasses and things, so you’d almost think you was afloat. 
It’s a great place to go, and the Captain as sociable and 
friendly as you’d ask for. He wasn’t that mild when he first 


46 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


came back, bad a daring way with him that belongs to sea- 
going I guess, and drank some too, I’ve heard, but he’s 
stopped all that now, and I’ll tell you how it came about. 
They were having a tea meeting up at the church grounds, 
a great spread of cakes and pies set out on long tables, and 
all the fixings of wreaths of flowers and wax-berries round 
them, and the rest of the sweet stuff that always goes on at 
tea-meetings. Well, up comes the Captain, his head foolish 
with drinking, and when one of the women asked him for 
a subscription to the fund they were raising, it made him 
mad, someway, and he walked up to the tables and lifted his 
foot and kicked them over, cakes and pies and all, every one 
of them onto the floor. 

“ ‘What’s the whole darned shot worth V said he, ‘and I’ll 
pay it all !’ ” 

“And when they told him a hundred and fifty dollars he 
takes out his wallet cool as could be, and counted it out to 
them, every dollar to a cent — don’t know how he happened 
to have that much on him, but he did. ‘Now get out of here, 
you money changers,’ said he, and he lifted up his 
foot again but there wasn’t anybody in sight to kick, for 
they had cleared outside, afraid he had gone plum crazy. 
And just then the batch of miners came along, for the sup- 
per they were expecting to have served them, and Nat called 
out to them, 

“ ‘Come in and get your fill,’ said he. ‘It’s all mine. 
I’ve bought it out And when you’re through don’t for- 

get to pick up the fragments.’ 

“It didn’t take them long to get busy. They cleared out 
the place of eatables like a swarm of locusts, and most of 
them with a frosted cake under their arm as they went off, 
its wreath of posies on their caps. It was a funny sight, 
I’ve heard, and no loss in it all, for the women had set their 
price pretty high. But it sobered Nat, and was his last fling, 
I guess, in public, anyway. Nobody ever saw him that 
way before, nor since either, far as I’ve heard.” 


ROADSIDE DREAMS 


47 


But here Joan suddenly cried out in exclamation at sight 
of a small building set in the midst of a barren rocky lot 
not far from the river, a strange little abode, looking like 
a ship’s cabin stranded upon the rocks, no paint upon its 
weather-beaten sides, but everything scrupulously clean and 
neat all about it. 

“O, does anybody live there ?” she asked. 

“That’s queer too,” said George, “for us to he talking about 
the sea just now, for the woman who owns that place we call 
the Skipper; her husband was a coaster captain and lost his 
schooner and cargo and went kind of soft-headed on it. He 
couldn’t ever sail again, being sillylike, and it bothered him 
to be along shore where he’d always lived, so he came here, 
him and his wife, and built that forecastle thing of a house. 
He’s dead long ago, when I was a boy, but she stays on, a 
queer sort herself, never talks to you, and has a black look 
always on her face. She chores out by the day and picks 
up a living, about the only extra help the women folks have 
got around here.” 

“Why, I thought Phoebe worked out,” said J oan. 

“Phoebe!” ejaculated George. “That’s a good one! You 
don’t know Phoebe, or you wouldn’t say that !” 

“She’s at our place now,” explained Joan, rather discom- 
forted at her companion’s hearty enjoyment of her remark. 

“I don’t doubt that’s so, but she doesn’t work out, as you 
call it. O, no! not Phoebe — she goes and takes charge, 
wherever and whenever she’s a mind to; but she’s a Wisdom, 
she thinks, and high and mighty in her ways.” 

“Is she married?” asked Joan. 

“Hot to speak of. She likes to run her own affairs too 
well. She and Captain Hat are sweet on each other, been 
courting for about forty years, but Phoebe won’t hitch up 
long as Hannah has to stay on the homestead, and Hannah, 
I guess the Lord must have forgot her, for she’s too old to 
be around, but is smart on her feet as a youngster, and 
cranky as a steer. Hat is dreadfully good to her, though, 


48 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and Phoebe is missing a fine husband all these years, hut 
Phoebe is Phoebe, and when her head is set one way you 
can’t get her feet to go another. The Skipper has got a 
girl with her that she took from the poor-house I guess, long 
ago, a nice spoken little thing she is too, about your age, but 
a bit lame and rather frail looking; she’ll never make old 
bones I reckon.” 

Here they reached the fork of the roads, where Joan was 
to be set down. 

“Don’t forget to come see us,” said he, gathering up the 
reins, “We’d be proud to have you. Keep right along the 
river bank till you strike the path. — On, Robin, on! On, 
Sparrow, on!” and with a crack of his whip to each sorrel 
steed he and His Majesty’s mail rumbled off along the old 
post-road. 

“And I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a passenger more,” 
he summed up, retailing the afternoon’s experience to his 
mother that night. “She looked sedate as a basket of chips 
there in the office but was chirpy as a cricket out in the open, 
sociable as you’ll ask for, but not free — just like all the Wis- 
doms; you’d think you were great cronies with one of them 
and suddenly they put up that wall between you as though 
you’d ought to beg to even peep over at them. It can’t be 
all a Wisdom fashion, either, for that girl at the Skipper’s 
has the same way with her. She’s often under the 
bridge, washing, or at the cabin, when I pass, and I’ll 
call out something gay with my good-morning or good-night, 
and she’ll toss back as good, but if I undertake to fol- 
low it up with another, up goes some kind of a ‘fence’ 
all around her. You’d call it haughty if she wasn’t 
a workhouse kid and washing clothes for a living. It’s 
good to have, though, in a girl; teaches them to take care 
of themselves. I’d say this one up at Halfway would be a 
great help up there, and change the Squire round from his 
gruff ways, maybe.” 

Joan did not follow down the river bank, as the mailman 


ROADSIDE DREAMS 


49 


had directed. She sat instead prone upon the shelving rock 
by the roadside, for directly in front of her was the oak tree 
clump of three, and at sight of it suddenly the mist cleared 
from her memory, and as if someone was spreading it out 
before her like a panorama, the memories began to unroll, 
slowly at first, as she fumbled back through the drear lonely 
years of her young life — back past the ugly School, where 
they wore striped uniforms like a prison, and had heavy work 
and light play and few studies — back through the different 
houses where she had served to fetch and carry with people 
who neither loved nor wanted her — beyond them to the one 
the Postmaster had called Polly-Ann, who had brought her 
here. And though she was so very far back in that dream 
life, Joan could see her now, quite plain, a little bright- 
eyed woman with curls tied up in a bunch behind each ear, 
wherever she went carrying work-basket, book and fan. 
Could see also the person he had called Debbie, whom Polly- 
Ann and she had visited and whom Joan herself had not 
liked. Nor had she liked the soup she was made to eat 
there each day, thickened with barley, like porridge ; nor the 
patchwork she was taught to piece and overhand so fine ; nor 
the long dreary Sunday when she would have to go to the 
church, carrying the queer square foot-stove full of charcoals, 
all the way, to place in the high square pew, for “Debbie” 
suffered with cold feet, and in summer and winter must 
have her foot-stove always at hand. 

Then there were all those “boastful Wisdom houses,” as 
Aunt Hetty had dubbed them, where Joan had been sent to 
visit, “farmed out,” the Postmaster called it, and she could 
recall some of them now, the low spread-out one, beyond the 
bridge, where lived a merry hearted old pair who once had 
a flock of boys and girls of their own, and for their sake 
had made the little stranger welcome, giving her the freedom 
of the cookie-crock, and letting her go often as she liked into 
the long lovely parlour where heavy red curtains hung at the 
windows, and gay broidered ottomans sat about the room. 


50 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Upon the mantel were wonderful plaster-of-paris images, 
wide-mouthed bottles of West India shells and lucky-beads, 
and two curious halls of smelly fragrant brown that took 
much examining by the small fingers before J oan discovered 
them to he clove-apples, red juicy apples filled up close with 
the aromatic sticks that drying their juice preserved their 
shape and fragrance. Even if the small fingers now and then 
extracted a clove just to see if it would come out, nobody had 
minded, while at Debbie’s she had never been allowed alone 
inside the grand best-room. They could not he very far apart, 
those two places, for she had gone there every morning for 
the kettle of milk, and the kettle would he well set with 
cream often before she would he willing to retrace her steps 
down the long walk where columbines and bouncing Betseys 
grew a-row, and out onto the highway through a hole in the 
high thorn hedge, because she could not swing back the heavy 
gates. She could see it all in her mind’s eye now, plain as 
plain could be. Where had it been stowed away to be so long 
forgotten ! 

And that visit to Cousin Alexander’s — why it seemed as if 
the oak trees called an “open sesame” to it, for she could 
fairly feel herself starting reluctantly away, obedient to the 
immovable will of Debbie, her nightgown in a tight roll un- 
der her arm, with orders to remain over night. To be sent 
to a stranger’s, uninvited ! And not even to have her one best 
nightgown with the frills, was the crown of all the miserable 
business! It appeared no longer ago than yesterday she 
had trudged her unwilling little feet over the shelving, shaly 
road, past the tall oak clump, and on up the byway that led 
to her destination. 

All the rest of it, that her host himself had related at the 
office, the garlanded knocker up so high that she could not 
reach it, and the door yielding to her push revealing the open 
parlour with its high round table where an uninvited nightie 
might securely hide, how clear she could see it. But how 
could she ever have thought of the way out of her difficulty 


EO AD SIDE DEEAMS 


51 


so young! And Joan did not know that it was just the 
way of her blood, and that a Wisdom always puts his best 
foot forward even if an orphan friendless one of five. Far 
fleeter than she could have put them into words the memories 
came crowding back, piece after piece fitting into place as she 
sat by the warm shaly roadside, matching them up. The shoes 
and stockings story that the Postmaster had laughed at, 
wouldn’t seem to come out plain, yet, and there was some- 
thing she knew she should recall about that dear, shady road 
she had been directed not to turn down, something that was a 
troubling thought. O what a beautiful place it was be- 
ginning to he, with real folks of her very own to love and to 
visit; and to pick up the threads let drop so long ago was 
almost like having a truly Home that might now go on and 
on, if only she could make Uncle Garret and Aunt Hetty 
be satisfied with her. 

But the thought of the great-uncle, querulous and 
suffering and harsh, waiting for his paper while she dreamed 
her dreams by the roadside, filled her with dismay at her 
loitering, and she hurried on fearfully, running outright 
till she reached the pine-bordered avenue, and Halfway. 


CHAPTER VI 


CAPTAIN NAT HOLDS HIS OWN 

T HE Eortune that provides for the lame and the lazy 
surely favoured Joan on this occasion, for though she 
had without doubt idled by the way, expecting to meet for 
retribution a stern and irate Uncle, she found to her sur- 
prise on reaching the side verandah where he usually sat 
through the afternoon that he was not there, nor was his 
rocker, the big extra one with the broad arms, and the wider 
foot-rest that supported his feet when the lame leg did not 
need elevation. It was used to draw him back and forth 
to his room, and when he had been helped from out it to 
his easy-chair, was always taken back to the verandah again 
at once, for Uncle Garret carried on all his workings by rule, 
and allowed no exceptions, either. The wing-room doors were 
closed, both of them, and it was so still, all about, with the 
petulant censorious presence gone, no sound nor stir to break 
the drowsy hum of the summer afternoon. 

It puzzled Joan, and she sat down for a moment on the 
steps to rest from her breathless run up hill, wondering if 
she dared go direct into his rooms or should go around by 
the house entrance; so stern and unbending he had been to 
her that she hardly knew how much liberty to venture upon. 
Yet here was his mail, the “Free Press,” and several large 
important looking letters; he ought not to wait longer for 
them. Perhaps he might be having a bad attack again, in 
his bedroom, and needing help. Lifting the latch with a 
hesitating hand she pushed open the door, but his room was 
empty, so was the adjoining office, where as Stipendiary for 
the District he held “court” as he was wont to term it. Twice 

52 


CAPTAIN NAT HOLDS HIS OWN 


53 


since Joan had come to Halfway there had been a group of 
men assembled there, talking and arguing in loud voice; all 
up the long driveway horses and waggons made fast by 
haltered rope around a restraining tree. “Looking for all 
the world like Divine Service, if you didn’t know where you 
was coming to” — Phoebe had sniffed sarcastically to Aunt 
Hetty as she ran their gauntlet on her last turn at Halfway. 

But the empty office and the solitary lane told Joan there 
was no “court” in session. Only once had she seen him in 
the other part of the house, and that had been when he was 
drawn out for dinner on her first day at Halfway. Where 
could he be now, in the middle of an afternoon, and his own 
rooms deserted and closed! Then she heard the sound of 
voices, remote and faint, and passing out the entry, through 
the long passage-way between, came to the front hall, into 
which she had never set foot since her arrival hut which now 
stood open. It was a long wide apartment, with little alcoves 
set in on either side, as if niches for statues, but wherein no 
figures reposed, only vases of ripened grass stalks in each, — 
grass-o’-the-fields, heavy bearded, feathery and fragrant. The 
broad striped strip of carpet, home-woven, home-coloured, and 
gay and bright as if just from dye-pot and loom instead of 
fifty years underfoot, shone glowing and rich against the 
oak panelled walls and the heavily planked floor. 

Its big entrance door stood open, the upper half, swinging 
inward, and Joan could see from out it the vistaed avenue 
of balm o’ Gileads with stretching branches that met o’er- 
head. This entrance was not often used, the post-road which 
once it led to having been swerved to the right, where the 
long pine-bordered lane made a more direct approach to the 
portion of Halfway that Uncle Garret himself occupied. 
Joan had wandered round there once, but had not seen the 
big door open, nor been inside the spacious hall. 

From one of the rooms at either side came the distant 
voices she had heard, distinct now, the great-uncle’s austere 
argumentative pitch, and another with a full pleasant unctu- 


54 : 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


ous cadence about it that drew her straight to whence it 
came, regardless of consequences. 

Uncle Garret was there, in the broad arm-chair; Phoebe 
also, sitting in state in the very middle of a long sofa ; and 
over by one of the windows a stranger, a man about Uncle 
Garret’s age, with quaint looking smooth face, an abundance 
of curly iron-grey locks, and an inscrutable smile that burst 
into frequent and hearty laugh when released from the cor- 
ners of his tight set lips. 

There was no opportunity to present her to the visitor, 
for as Joan stood in the doorway he called out to her him- 
self. 

“Come here, my pretty,” said he with extended hands. 
“I’ve come up to Halfway especially to call upon you. I’m 
Captain Nat, your cousin.” 

“Several times removed,” interjected Uncle Garret, “and 
on the other side at that. Don’t take more than is coming 
to you.” 

“Half or whole, as you like,” replied the new relative with 
a hearty hand shake for Joan. “I’ve got the strain if I 
haven’t got the name. But this little girl here has got both 
sides of us in her makeup, and the name too. Have you 
seen your Grandfather’s folks yet ?” 

“What she needs to learn about them I’ll tell her myself, 
do you understand?” said Uncle Garret with asperity. 

But the speech and the look intended to wither Captain 
Nat in his boots, showed no effect whatever in his suave re- 
joinder. 

“If she’s been for the mail I bet she got an ear full already, 
from Alexander. He’s like the rain that falls from Heaven, 
he loves us all and doesn’t sort us out according to our sins.” 

“Don’t get wrangling about them,” put in Phoebe, “or 
she’ll not take to either side of the family.” 

“You’re not asked for an opinion,” replied Uncle Garret, 
reaching out for the mail which Joan still held. 

“This is ‘Star’ day, and ‘Free Press’ day too,” remarked 


CAPTAIN NAT HOLDS HIS OWN 


55 


Captain Nat, noticing that Phoebe was warming to the fray 
and thinking it best to avoid a fracas between the two be- 
fore the yonng stranger. “I’m glad yon enjoy the ‘Free 
Press’ regular, Garret,” as the latter periodical dropped from 
Uncle Garret’s hand and outspread upon the floor. “There’s 
a great editorial in it this week, good sound politics.” 

“I don’t read the ‘Free Press’ for political information,” 
retorted the great-uncle, caught red handed in possession 
of the contentious sheet. “It gives me the news around the 
countryside, and shut up as I am it’s some company to know 
what is going on among the people. I can’t do much reading 
now since my neck is stiff with the rheumatism.” 

“When I came up to the piazza,” said Captain Nat, not 
seeming able to resist stirring up the nest even though he 
should himself be stung in return, “I thought you were read- 
ing your Bible, and was glad to notice it; the ‘Free Press,’ 
all through, and your Bible, Garret, are the only reading 
you need.” 

“The man who reads the ‘Free Press’ through would have 
to read his Bible,” replied Uncle Garret without further 
comment. The visitor was undoubtedly foiled, and tried his 
bow again. 

“I met Hetty up the road this morning, along by Demp- 
sey’s Corner, had your best waggon out, the top buggy, and 
your black mare. I didn’t know you ever let that out unless 
it was carrying yourself. The sun was glistening on it so 
bright, I thought it might he the Coronation Coach got out of 
London someway. The mare was stepping off fine, too.” 

Joan trembled with consternation, and threw Phoebe a 
quick beseeching glance. Was it to be repeated here, the 
forenoon’s storm and invective against poor little Aunt Hetty 
and them all ! If only Phoebe would throw herself into the 
breach, but Phoebe evidently was not averse to the show, 
and Joan was afraid to venture in unbidden. 

“Hetty is a good hand with horses,” said Uncle Garret, 


56 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


calmly; “all her people were, could manage any creature 
they had the reins over.” 

Joan gasped again, this time with astonishment. She 
looked at Phoebe. She looked at the old Uncle, with puzzled 
glance, and then, young though she was, saw through it all. 
“The blessed old thing,” she thought, “to pass it off that way 
so cool and composed, when he was really and truly so angry 
about it all. He would manage his own affairs, his wife 
included, as well as his rheumatic leg! and Captain Nat was 
not to have any tales to tell — Wasn’t it fine, and wasn’t it 
funny !” Phoebe gave a short cackling laugh half under her 
breath, but Joan heard it, and the little crooked smile that in 
spite of herself had lurked in the corners of her own lips, 
suddenly outspread and made her face blossom like a flower. 
But Uncle Garret’s countenance, if he heard or noted either, 
gave no sign, and his tormentor, though disappointed in the 
effect of this news he had rolled under his tongue like a 
sweet morsel for Uncle Garret’s nestling, did not push it 
further. 

“Off on a visit, I suppose,” said he good-naturedly. “I 
hope she’ll get our way before long and bring down the little 
cousin. I must be getting off myself, soon, or I’ll not be back 
by night. It’s queer but I haven’t ever got used to the dark 
that’s over the land at night, being so long at sea, I suppose, 
where we have the whole sky full of stars around us and a 
moon to ourselves every now and then — so I always aim to 
be in easy reach of home when twilight falls. Hetty must 
be a good housekeeper to get away as often as she does, and 
so early in the day,” with a side glance at Phoebe. 

“Hetty knows who she leaves in charge,” replied that 
worthy with asperity, “but she knows too how to manage 
things, herself, and is a quick worker when she is home.” 

“They always were forehanded, her folks,” said Captain 
Nat. “Her mother was the smartest woman in the settle- 
ment. I’ve heard Hannah say she got to having the washing 
done on Saturdays to get ahead of her neighbours, and while 


CAPTAIN NAT HOLDS HIS OWN 


57 


they were steaming in suds on Monday she would be in her 
white apron, ironing, and baking in between to use up the 
heat. Then she did it on Fridays and her sweeping Thurs- 
day, and got so smart finally she got back to where she started 
from, and kept on chasing herself that way, all the rest of 
her life. But nothing ever interfered with her visiting, and 
Hetty is like her in that. Better get her down soon to see 
us, Garret, so our new cousin here can have a visit with us,” 
and he turned to Joan. “You’d enjoy a few days on the 
hill,” said he; “all kinds of foreign trinkets in the house to 
look at, and a good safe old horse you could learn to ride on 
if you cared to. Ever ride a horse ?” 

Bide a horse ! She certainly had not. He might as well 
have asked if she had a kingdom to offer for one ! Would she 
like it, well rather! and joy for the very thought of it shone 
in her eyes as she answered him. “Oh, I’d love to so much, 
I’ve never done anything like that, nor had any real fun” — 
and then she stopped suddenly, abashed that she should have 
spoken out so frankly before them all. 

But she had not been able to hide the pathos of her tone. 

“Well, well,” exclaimed Captain Nat kindly, “then it’s 
high time we all began to give it to you, or you’ll get grown 
up without it. The time to pack aboard real fun is when 
you’re young, or you’re like a ship without ballast to meet the 
winds and waves that sweep you later on. I’ll bet you’d 
ride well, too. You have a fearless eye, and a tight grip 
in your fingers I noticed when you shook hands with me — 
and you and the old white horse will get on fine.” 

“She does not need to go from Halfway for a mount,” said 
Uncle Garret with asperity, “and as for Tun’, as you call it, 
she has not come to me to go riding all over the countryside. 
I’ll attend to her pleasures myself, when the time comes for 
them.” 

“Hoity, toity!” exclaimed the Captain, “you’re on a high 
nag yourself, just now! Linked up as she is with us all, 
we’ve each got the claim to offer our hospitality and make her 


58 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


feel glad she came amongst ns. If she’s as much of a Wis- 
dom as she looks, she’ll he riding a horse all right of her 
own accord, without you or me to hinder or help. When 
we’re young we itch to get onto everything and into every- 
thing there is going,” said he to Joan. “Kind of a power 
in us, and the dare to prove it. Ever feel it yet ? If you do, 
and haven’t been able to try yourself out, why now’s your 
chance. Phoebe here will teach you how to spin, and weave 
too, kind of old-fashioned accomplishments maybe, hut your 
grandmother could weave at twelve, I’ve heard, and had a 
small loom built for her on purpose, didn’t she, Garret? 
Hannah was speaking of it only yesterday, and telling me 
about that unlucky piece that’s set up in the loom-room.” 

“It is not necessary for you to do the hospitalities for Half- 
way. I’m still in charge here, do you understand!” said 
Uncle Garret. If he did or not, the douse, cold though it was, 
rolled off Captain Nat as if he were the proverbial duck. So 
Uncle Garret made another strike. “It is as if I were to 
interfere with yours and Phoebe’s courting,” said he. 

Captain Nat understood that, and with a somewhat abashed 
look askance at the sofa, a pink colour like a child’s crept into 
his round face and mounted to his broad brow over which 
hung the abundant locks. He stirred uneasily. “I must be 
going,” said he. 

“Well, blast you, go! Who’s hindering you!” roared the 
master of Halfway, exasperated at the several attempts at 
withdrawal that had failed to come off, and eager for perusal 
of his mail so long withheld. 

Bichard was himself again, for this last thrust had been 
above the heart, and Captain Nat settled hack in his chair 
once more. “As I was about to say,” said he turning to Joan, 
“Let them bring you down some day very soon, my dear, and 
we’ll get that horse broken in. You surely favour the one 
whose name you bear, as I remember her. And yet you 
are like your grandfather’s side too, the Island folks.” 

“She hasn’t a feature nor a fancy like them,” said Uncle 


CAPTAIN NAT HOLDS HIS OWN 


59 


Garret, “and I wouldn’t have her in my house if she had.” 

“O, well,” remarked his visitor placidly, “have it as you 
will. Your eyesight is failing fast, but I haven’t noticed 
your spleen is any the worse for wear. Now, I really must 

he going, or the night will catch me ” and with a hearty 

and generous hand-shake around, was up and off, with a 
quick short step, down the long hall, and out through the 
passageway to Uncle Garret’s own side door, whistling in 
suggested thought of the approaching night, the rollicking 
air of the popular refrain that had just come to the country- 
side, “I’m afraid to go home in the dark.” 

Phoebe gave a suppressed giggle of admiring appreciation 
at the aplomb of her departing swain in thus defying his 
host, and an outright titter as the strains of the ridiculous 
song floated hack to their ears. 

“Blast him, why didn’t he go out the way I let him in !” 
snarled Uncle Garret; “always saucy and free, as if he owned 
the earth. A man who has sailed his own vessel isn’t fit to 
be around on land with other people. He’s too cock-sure and 
masterful.” 

“Queer too, being a Wisdom,” said Phoebe grimly. “I 
wonder now where he’d get a streak like that.” 

“Pull out my chair,” commanded Uncle Garret, “and then 
come hack and chain up the door again. The impudence of 
him trotting out that side door, after all my trouble and 
pain in getting in here at the front.” And all the while the 
woman drew his chair down the bright-striped carpet, he 
scolded and argued with her, their wrangling voices sounding 
back even after they reached his own room. 

Presently Phoebe returned, and found Joan looking over 
the half-door. “Masterful!” sniffed she — “I know who’s 
masterful, and proud and silly — made me pull him way in 
here, and wouldn’t let me open the side door to Nat but had 
him walk round to this one that is almost never opened up. 
Said he wouldn’t have him call on you at the back way. T 
know what bents my station, and hers, and so does Nat,’ said 


60 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


he, ‘and if he has come to see her he’ll see her in the proper 
place,’ and no arguing could change it. But Nat is wise — he 
hasn’t sailed a ship load of men for nothing, and he knows 
a bully from a clown, so he never showed any surprise at the 
state, but carried on conversation polite as could be for 
awhile, weather and crops and the folks around; but they 
were getting well nigh aground for subjects when you showed 
up, and on edge with each other, and had to have a clash or 
two or it wouldn’t be natural. I brag on Nat going out that 
side door, though ; in the end he always gets his own way in 
that queer easy fashion, without any storm about it either, 
like Garret has. You’ll enjoy a visit with him great.” 

“If Aunt Hetty couldn’t take me, why you and I might 
go, some time,” said Joan. She would have liked to say some- 
thing too, about the long courting George had told her of, 
had she dared, hut Phoebe was a comparative stranger, as 
yet, and she did not want to offend her, for perhaps Phoebe 
could tell her about those dream-like people she had been 
recalling to-day, and perhaps about the Island relations also 
whom Uncle Garret did not like. 

“When I go to the Hill farm,” said Phoebe with a toss of 
her head, “I go to stay, and I guess that will never be, for 
I’ll not live there while Hannah, his sister, does, and Hannah 
is setting up to be a mummy, and will never die off, it’s my 
opinion.” 

Just here Uncle Garret’s summons for Joan sounded out. 
“It’s likely water he wants,” said Phoebe. “He’ll have his 
jug filled fresh before he starts in on the ‘Free Press,’ for he 
wears himself out over that every Friday, swearing and mut- 
tering, and contending every word, and he’d burn up inside 
if he hadn’t a cool drink at hand. Captain Nat he owns the 
paper, but he doesn’t edit it, nor run it himself. You saw 
how he jollied Garret about it, though, and that will make 
him madder than ever to-day. When you come back from the 
spring I’ll show you round the parlors, while he’s blowing 
off steam.” 


CAPTAIN NAT HOLDS HIS OWN 


61 


But Joan did not return to the hall, for when she had 
brought him the water, Uncle Garret ordered her to shut the 
door between, and to go out on his own piazza to sit. 

“I don’t choose to have you around hearing all that wom- 
an’s gossip,” said he. “If you have any questions to ask, 
ask them of your equals always, you understand. Whether 
I am in hearing or not I’ll always find out, and I forbid it.” 

Phoebe closed and chained the great door, both portions, 
went back into the drawing-room and put the chairs in place, 
and waited for Joan, but she did not appear; so making an 
excuse to go round by the piazza she saw her sitting there 
upon the steps reading. 

“If that isn’t Wisdom for you, and boiled down at that, 
then I don’t know them !” said she to herself. “Sociable and 
eager as a child for your company, then sudden shut up like 
a clam. Silly, and proud, all of them are, saving those who 
have got enough other blood mixed in to have common sense. 
Proud, is she! well, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for 
the gander!” And not knowing that poor little Joan was a 
prisoner in the Vatican, even her speech silenced so she could 
not explain, Phoebe passed her without so much as a glance. 
And there was not a sign of the fresh baked cakes for the 
tea which she presently spread upon the big. round table, 
only bread and butter and apple-sauce, which Joan was left 
to eat in solitary state. Thus just as she was beginning to find 
and make a friend, Uncle Garret had spoiled it all, unless 
Phoebe should relent and choose to come again under the 
sweet and wistful sway of that flower smile that had its 
roots deep in Joan’s heart and only when drawn from thence 
burst into bloom over her small dark face. 


CHAPTEK VII 


life’s stores of experience 

I T was near closing time at the Post Office. The couriers 
had gone out on their respective routes, and only Silas 
and Joel, who usually sat out the afternoon with him, were 
left for the Postmaster’s company. The big table had been 
cleared of the day’s litter, the mail-bags hung in ordered 
row, and the Postmaster himself was behind his pulpit right- 
ing up cash-box and stamps, when Captain Nat’s round 
smooth face appeared at the wicket window. 

“Come right in here, Nattie,” called out Silas, doing the 
honours for the Government. “Well, if Nat tie isn’t all dressed 
up, bow-tie and patent leathers — been to see the girls I guess ! 
How’s Phoebe to-day, young and shy as ever?” 

“Phoebe is playing second fiddle,” replied Captain Nat, 
mopping his brow as he seated himself in the proffered chair. 
“I’ve been up to Halfway to call on the little cousin that 
Garret has taken.” 

“Phoebe’s nose is broken, eh?” queried the Postmaster, 
peering out over his pulpit and his glasses at the newcomer. 
“How’do Nat, glad to see you.” 

“I’d do as I’d be done by, if I had the chance,” said the 
Captain. “I’d pass that pitcher of water over to you and 
ask you to have a drink.” 

“It’s not water, it’s lime-juice, straight from Montserrat, 
and it has a chunk of ice in it,” said the Postmaster, pushing 
pitcher and glass toward the visitor, “but if you were a Wis- 
dom clear through, Nat, name and all, I don’t know as I’d 
pass it over so free, for we were planning on another sup 
around, ourselves, before you came in. You and I got 

62 


LIFE’S STORES OF EXPERIENCE 


63 


linked up with them pretty close far as the blood in our veins 
goes, but we haven’t got the name itself, and consequently 
not the real ‘thirst’ the curse put upon them. 

“It’s a terrible punishment, all right, for those who have 
the real thing,” put in Joel, “I’ve seen them drink a bucket- 
ful at a gulp, almost, and their desire not quenched, and to 
set a Wisdom man a-haying, without a well in easy run of 
him, is clear murder. Not many of them, round here at least, 
took to strong drink, but I’ve heard that was what carried off 
Amsey’s brother Philip, and a good many others of them who 
went to foreign places, and into public life, and what you call 
society — got the taste of liquors, and always having the 
‘thirst,’ went down and out in no time.” 

“I guess you’re stepping on Captain Nat’s toes,” said 
Silas. 

“O, never mind my toes,” replied the Captain, “there are 
no corns on them now, I’m a teetotaler.” 

“It’s a good old-fashioned word, that, Nat, sounds as if 
it meant business. You hear too much nowadays about peo- 
ple having ‘temperance principles’, and being ‘moderate’ and 
all that slush that’s no real help to nobody. The right way 
to do is to come out flat-footed, and be the whole thing, stand 
right up against it, in your own house and out, and that’s 
what will help the cause itself, and the weak fellows who 
haven’t got strength of their own to stand out alone. Being 
a teetotaler, Nat, is a great sight better than buying out that 
tea meeting the way you did the first year you came home — 
haven’t forgotten that racket, have you ?” 

“I don’t have a chance to,” said the Captain, after the 
general laugh had subsided. “There’s always somebody re- 
minding me of it, and so as I can’t down it I have got myself 
into the way of thinking it was something I did for the cause, 
for they never made such easy money at a tea meeting be- 
fore, or since, though I can’t say apart from paying over the 
price that it is anything to be proud of. But speaking of 
the Wisdom thirst, I came across a queer sight to-day. I 


64 : 


JO A H AT HALFWAY 


was rounding the corner by the bridge, where you see the 
Skipper’s place plain, and that girl of hers was sitting out 
on the rocks draining off mug after mug full of water from 
a* pail where she had been to the well up the road, and if 
she didn’t look like a Wisdom as she was doing it, then I 
never saw one.” 

“Why, she is none of us,” said the Postmaster. “You got 
kind of addled, with being up at old Halfway where the first 
of us started out, eh ! And they’re so intermarried through 
the country that it’s almost unsociable anyway not to look 
like one, round these parts. How did you like the little 
stranger up at Halfway ?” 

“Oh, she’s a little queen, and one of the ilk all right, 
easy as an old shoe, and yet high-stepping and mighty like 
all the rest in the way she carries herself ; said she was down 
here for the mail, so you saw her for yourselves. She could 
be a blessing to Garret and Hetty, if they would let her; 
young life in that old place, but Garret is Garret, same as 
ever, hasn’t taken in any sail near as I could notice. Say, 
you should have seen him make me go round to the big front 
door, and sit in the best parlor — had Phoebe draw his chair 
in through that long hall, and made his bow as if he was the 
great-grandfather of us all — Gad, but I snickered inside, to 
see it. Garret doesn’t love me overly much, seeing as I am 
the Island stock, and I expect it nettled him to have me call 
on the girl, so he thought he’d overpower me with splendour. 
But I’ve walked the deck of my own full rigged ship, and 
I hope I bore the honours as became me. It’s a curious thing 
that most people can’t see their own failings. How Garret 
is that full of them that they fairly stand out like knobs all 
over him and yet he thinks he’s all right and that it’s the rest 
of us is out of step and line. I know if I had any, I’d see 
them myself.” 

A sally greeted his words, and Silas slammed his hands 
down so hard upon the table that the snug piled papers flew 
off in all directions. Captain Hat looked blandly round. “I 


LIFE’S STORES OF EXPERIENCE 


65 


don’t see who the laugh is on,” said he. “I can’t think of a 
single one I’ve got. I just go on my own w T ay and don’t 
bother other folks.” 

“Ask Hannah!” said Joel solemnly. “That’s just the 
root of it all, it’s our own individual ways that bother other 
people. You’re pretty free from faults, yourself, but I reckon 
Phoebe and Hannah could find a few flaws when it came to 
every-day-living with you.” 

“So Phoebe was up at Halfway,” interjected Silas slyly. 

“She sure was! and you’d have crumpled up to see those 
two sitting out my call, blazing away at each other every 
chance they got. I hardly had the wind in my quarter at all 
till the child came in. She’s the living image of Garret’s sis- 
ter Joan, the one that ran away and married Phil. I was only 
a boy when she was a young lady, but if you saw Joan Wis- 
dom once you’d always remember her — my, but she was a red 
rose, beat the grandmother one that grows in all our gardens ! 
When this little J oan came to the room, she kind of stood a 
minute on the doorsill, the hall was dark behind her, and she 
looked like a picture in a frame. I saw Garret clinch the 
arms of his chair and stare at her. Wonder how he came to 
have her here, when he wouldn’t let his sister inside of Half- 
way after she married, and he and his father between them 
cheated her out of any share in the property.” 

“Turned Samaritan awful sudden like,” said Silas, “char- 
ity begins at home, and there are people round here he needs 
to get a soft heart towards, who are as much his folks as she 
is.” 

“I pity the one who asks him the reason. We were up 
there to court last week and he was that stubborn and 
down-bearing he made every one of us mad as hornets. 
But he knows the law all right, and is just, too, in 
his decisions, and he knows a bit of most everything you can 
bring up. How he reached out and learned so many things 
I don’t understand. He’s not a doctor and yet he can say 
his bones with Dr. Zebra or any other of them. He’s not a 


66 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


minister but you’d find it bard to stick him for a verse in 
the Bible from cover to cover. And he’s never been to sea 
and yet he knows a vessel from hull to mast top, same as a 
sailor. Dick Conners, he said in the cross-examining that 
he was a boat-builder. ‘You only imagine you are,’ said 
Garret. ‘You build a strip of something you call boat and 
when a man orders one you cut off a piece of your strip and 
pucker it up at the ends and run it out, but it’s clear luck 
if it floats. You’re no more a boat-builder than I’m a Chief 
Justice, you’re a tinker , do you understand!’ And poor Dick 
he wilted right out of sight, for it was true as life ; his boats 
aren’t more than punts, the best of them, for either looks or 
speed. And you know how mumbly Tom Collins talks, and 
yet he’s mighty important and sure of himself; so he was 
arguing away at the other end of the room, setting forth his 
case, and Garret waited till he got all through with his 
speech, and then said he, ‘Gentlemen, I’m slightly deaf and I 
haven’t heard a word of what Mr. Collins has told you but 
I’m prepared to say it was a lie from beginning to end,’ and 
the laugh broke down Tom’s whole argument that had seemed 
pretty good when he was talking it off. He’s terrible over- 
bearing as I said, and crusty and sharp, but bless me if in 
turning over some papers for him on his desk after the 
rest were gone, if I didn’t come upon a sparrow, in a box 
of wool, and when I asked him about it he said the bird had 
got its leg broke and he was splinting it to see if ’twould 
heal.” 

“Plenty of good in him if he’d let it out,” said Silas, “but 
he covers it up with his harsh words and deeds. I hear he 
foreclosed on Ann Dunlop’s place last week. Now he has 
that whole meadow lot by just laying low and waiting for 
other people’s misfortunes that mean fortune to him — like 
an old spider he is, has the countryside in his web, and sitting 
back himself up his string, watching them wriggle and get 
caught. It’s sad to see a man of his means and knowledge 
ending his days the way he is.” 


LIFE’S STORES OF EXPERIENCE 


67 


“When you get right down at the root of it all it’s not so 
bad,” said the Postmaster; “you see when he came home and 
took the old place again, from what the rolls showed it used 
to cover, it had dwindled down to no more than twenty acres, 
wood and house lot and meadow, for his father had sold off 
here and there whenever he was in a tight place. Garret is 
nothing if he isn’t proud of his name and his race, so having 
plenty of means to do it, he began to think it would be a 
good thing to get hack all the land that was in the old title — 
and it’s not any different now-days from scripture times, 
when a man covets a bit of vineyard he’s not going to let a 
few scruples stand in his way. And hard times, and Death 
the reaper, and clear sheer luck have all been on his side 
in the transactions. I never saw the like of how things seem 
to play into his hands. His motive in the first place was all 
right, it’s his methods in bringing it about that are wrong.” 

“But pride in your heart is a sinful thing,” said Silas, 
“and always gets brought low in the end. It’s better to have 
a good name among your neighbours and acquaintances, built 
upon integrity and love, than to build up Halfway. But 
all the rest he has done is play compared with the way he is 
using the lever on old Uncle Amsey. He’s had the cross 
bridge taken down over the creek, and bought that strip of 
land this side that it rested on, and they’ve nothing but two 
foot planks across, farther up; can’t get heavy stores over 
unless they go way up the road twelve miles at the head of 
the creek; all because Amsey won’t sell back the pasture 
lands that the Island folks bought long ago from Garret’s 
father. It is scandalous, and those two such cronies, when 
they were young fellows, always off together fishing and hunt- 
ing, and into town to school. I hear Hetty isn’t allowed to 
go to the Island. How did you find Hetty, Nat; quiet and 
cool as ever ? She has a big load to carry, in Garret.” 

Captain Nat gave a chuckle. “She’s been given grace and 
wit to bear it better than most of us could, and knows how 
to weather the gales all right. She took his black mare and 


68 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


that top-buggy he bought last year hut hasn’t ever used, took 
it without asking, and got an early start away. I met her 
when I was going down to the mines, and could hardly be- 
lieve my eyes. She told me how it came about, her own 
old horse and chaise out of commission, and kind of hinted 
she’d like me to break it to Garret while I was up, so the 
storm would he spent when she got hack ; very particular she 
was to say nothing against Garret, hut I know them through 
and through, and thought I’d help her out, and I was expect- 
ing a cloud-burst all right when he was told. Gad, I got 
left, myself, for he took the news as cool as though it was only 
the wheelbarrow she had run out, though I gathered out of 
the tail of my eye from Phoebe and the little one, that there 
had already been a tempest over it. He’s a queer makeup, 
nettles me like mad, and yet such a handsome old cuss, his 
face as if it was cut out of stone, and dresses so slick and 
well. Hetty was off on a two days’ visit. I don’t blame her 
for getting outside Halfway now and then.” 

“Hetty gets her visiting bump straight from her mother,” 
said Joel, who held the history and genealogy of the whole 
township in the hollow of his hand. “Her mother never let 
anything interfere with her rounds. Once she started away 
for a day’s visit, with all the children in the waggon, for 
over the marsh, and on the way across the old mare foaled on 
her hands, not a house nor a person in sight to help her out. 
But she saw it through all right, put the colt into the old 
chaise along with the youngsters, and not to be cheated out 
of her visit went right along, colt and all and spent the day 
as she had planned — enterprising woman she was, and I 
judge Hetty is a chip of the old block.” 

The official clock struck six. “Closing time,” said the 
Postmaster, “and we’ll have to be moving. I find it’s all I 
can do to get home and through my supper and back here by 
half past seven, generally somebody sitting outside waiting 
for me when I do come. You’d better go along with me, Nat, 
for supper, you don’t get down to the Corner often.” 


LIFE’S STORES OF EXPERIENCE 


69 


“That was just the port I was planning to make,” said 
Captain Nat placidly, “but I won’t deny that an invitation is 
better than asking yourself. My horse is getting shod, and 
won’t be done till seven, so that makes me home about sun- 
down.” 

“Why don’t you sell out that Hill farm and move down 
here at the Corner ?” asked Silas, walking along with the two 
till he should come to his turn of the road. “Must he lone- 
some up there now that you’re getting on in years.” 

“Far as that goes, it’s not near as lonesome as it was when 
I was a youngster, Silas, and I guess it’s true, the old say- 
ing, that every Wisdom is a gang by himself, for I like my 
friends and I like my folks, and to go around occasionally 
to see them, but ‘east or west, home is best,’ and when you’ve 
had the sea and the stars and the sky all to yourself as long 
as I had, you couldn’t be content living in amongst too many 
houses. I have a glass so powerful I can almost see what 
you’re having for dinner down here at the Corner, and the 
wind blows free up there and racks the buildings so hard 
sometimes I think I’m off sailing again.” 

When Silas and Joel left them the two walked along in 
silence for a few moments, the sights and scents of the early 
June evening entering their souls with a spirit of rest. 
Strong of frame and force they were, and ready of speech, 
yet peculiarly in concord with the sweet tuneful things of 
Nature — the flash of a blue-bird’s wing, a wind-flower’s uplift 
face nodding in the wild wood, the young moon’s wistful 
crescent grace, all the glory and the pageant that night and 
day spread for us, our “table in the wilderness” for suste- 
ance, that we may be fresh and free even in the presence of 
our enemies Trouble and Care. 

Presently Alexander linked his arm in the Captain’s. “I 
was going to ask you about this latest of Garret’s, taking 
down the bridge to the Island, that Silas was telling us of. 
I can hardly believe it. In one way and another Garret has 
got enough to answer for without having to father anything 


VO 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


that doesn’t belong to him. Is it true, do you know, that there 
are only footplanks over the creek, and the little bridge taken 
up?” 

“True enough,” said his companion. “I footed them only 
last week myself, and felt as if I was stepping a gangway. 
Of course they are old folks, Amsey and Orin, and don’t 
often have a call to come over it, and when they want to 
drive out they can cross lots and join the main road the other 
side the Island, up by the twelve-mile, but that’s a long way 
round, in case of sudden sickness or need. And there isn’t 
anything they could do about it by law, I guess, for the old 
privilege was only an easement allowed by sufferance, be- 
tween the two families first, and afterwards by the general 
public.” 

“But Amsey was down at the office last week, and he said 
nothing about it.” 

“There’s Amsey for you!” said Captain Nat. “That’s his 
one and only failing. He’s too easy going, and always was, 
that’s the streak in the Island branch, easy to live with 
at home all right, but not enough fight and force to battle 
their rights out in the world as you must, if you want to get 
on. I’ve got the same strain, but having to be master of my 
ship kind of killed it out. Garret had no right to row with 
Amsey as he did long ago, when they were young men, just 
because Phil and Joan ran off and got married, even if Amsey 
did kind of help them out driving them into town to the par- 
son. Amsey should have stood right up in his boots to Gar- 
ret, there and then, and had it out. Instead of that he took 
it cool, and thought it would blow over in time, but one 
thing after another added to the break, and it was never 
made up, and Garret got so sour with everything that he 
closed up Halfway and cleared out himself. I must say I’m 
glad Amsey’s had spunk enough now not to sell out the pas- 
ture to him. I guess Orin has kind of stiffened him up since 
she came back home to live. I had a great afternoon with 
them. Amsey hasn’t lost a bit of that whimsical kind of 


LIFE’S STORES OF EXPERIENCE 


71 


humour he always had, and Orin is shrewd and nimble witted 
as ever, and we had a fine time. I wonder if they’ve heard 
about this child up at Garret’s. She would be Phil’s grand- 
child and as much their kin as she is Garret’s.” 

“That is what I have been turning over in my own mind 
since she was down to the office this afternoon,” said Alex- 
ander ; “why would Garret want her, and where did he come 
across her? If he knew she was living, all this time he’s 
been back, why hasn’t he had her come before? It is only 
just lately, I believe, that he found out, for it was early 
spring the mail began to pass to and fro, from some school, I 
think it was, letters and what looked like documents. By 
the account we had of him and his doings to-day he hasn’t 
begun to have a change of heart that you could notice, so 
why would he want back at Halfway the grandchild of the 
sister he wouldn’t let inside its doors?” 

“Queer how the threads of life get snarled, sometimes,” 
said Captain Nat. “By all natural right she ought to be 
down at the Island instead, where they surely would give her 
a warmer welcome, being Phil’s grandchild. Orin always set 
great store by Phil. I wonder how the Island property will 
go,” said Captain Nat. “We’ve always understood it was 
entailed, and in that case this little Joan would be heir when 
Orin and Amsey are done with it.” 

“Guess we won’t get far ahead with our speculating till 
we have some real fact to lay back on ; and what Garret knows 
he’ll keep to himself. Another thing I was going to speak of, 
Nat, was what you said about being a teetotaler. 

“I thought I wouldn’t ask you about it at the office, and 
tried to turn the others off the subject well as I could, but 
I was wondering how it came around, for you used to be 
quite free at drinking when you first came back from sea.” 

“I don’t mind telling,” said the Captain, “since it will be 
between you and me. It was that tea meeting racket did 
the business. I had only taken to my glass after I went 
from home, and not regular at all, just when I would be in 


72 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


port and that like — and the foreign wines someway never 
made me silly. It was the stuff I got here at home that 
knocked me over, and that tea meeting day was the first 
time I was ever really under it. I had taken more than 
usual, and when the women came up and asked me for a sub- 
scription for the organ fund they were having the racket for, 
it riled me all of a sudden, and you know what I did — a 
rowdy deed it was, too. Soon as I had done it, though, I 
was sobered, and cleared out for home ; hut Hannah 
had got there before me, and told Mother all about it, 
and she called me into her chamber. She’d been bed- 
ridden, you know, for two years or more, and lay on that 
old canopied four poster, all wasted away with age 
and sickness, and she pulled my old tousled head down 
on the pillow beside her little white night-capped one, 
and snuggling her thin cheek against mine began to slip 
her finger up through these ridiculous old kinks of curls, 
just as she used to do, when I was a kid, and roll them round 
her fingers. ‘Hattie,’ said she, ‘I’m ashamed of you, ashamed 
of the only son I’ve got; and ashamed myself to go before 
my Lord to render up my account of you.’ 

“And then sudden she turned and faced me, her old eyes 
shining like stars, and piercing as a sword prick, ‘Nathan- 
iel,’ she said, stern, like a General in command, ‘Nathan- 
iel, promise me you will never touch it again in your life, 
never !’ Promise her ! What else would I do ! Lying there 
with her eyes looking me through and through, so tiny I 
could have picked her up and put her in my pocket, and yet 
what had she gone through for me ! Bone of her bone I was, 
flesh of her flesh, and down to Heath’s door to bring me into 
life. Why Heaven, or Hell, or whatever she had asked 
me I would have given up — and I promised. Next 
morning she was dead, slept quietly away through the night. 
What peace of mind would I ever have, if I had let her go 
that night hack to her Lord, ashamed of the only son He 
gave her ! Gad, Alec, the pluck of her, little bit of a thing 


LIFE’S STORES OF EXPERIENCE 


73 


like that, tackling a fifty year old six footer, and holding 
him up — I’m proud of her ! And though I haven’t ever done 
anything to make her particularly proud of me, at least she 
shall not he ashamed again.” 

“I’m glad you told me,” said the Postmaster. “It heats 
all, too, what a man would do for his Mother if she pinned 
him down to it. Girls get kind of weaned away from her 
authority — with having responsibilities of their own along 
the same line, hut I don’t believe a hoy ever really grows up ; 
far as his mother is concerned he’s just about six years old, 
and the chivalry in us added to that, would give a mother al- 
most all power on earth, if she’d use it to make us stand right 
up in our hoots against evil and wrong doing. The trouble is 
that some of them do the very things themselves, that they 
try to keep their children from ; and mothers, or fathers either 
for that matter, who aren’t willing to deny themselves their 
own desires for the sake of the hoys and girls the Lord has 
given them to train, deserve all the sorrow they get from it ; 
and are not the real thing God intended them to he when He 
made them Parents. Louisa and I have often talked it over.” 

So, in silence or in speech the two walked on, communing 
with lip and heart out of their rich store of Life’s experiences, 
till presently they reached the oak clump and turned down 
the road to Alexander’s home, and supper. 

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Alexander that night as he lay 
upon his bed, bringing his hand with a whack upon his thigh 
that stirred his drowsy spouse. 

“Got what?” asked Louisa, “that nightmare you were 
chasing ?” 

“You’re mistaken,” said Alexander, “I wasn’t asleep, I 
was thinking about Garret. I’ll tell you what I believe he’s 
after in bringing that child hack to Halfway — ” 

“Don’t” replied the tranquil Louisa. “It’s a had habit to 
use your mind after you come to bed. Bed is for rest. And 
as for thinking about Garret, you need to be up and moving 


74 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


around when you think about him,” and turning over upon 
her pillow she was almost immediately in calm slumber. 

Alexander smiled broadly in the dark at thought of her 
interpretation of his quarry — smiled again, a tender quiz- 
zical smile, at Louisa’s placid untroubled nature, the absolute 
serenity and goodness that had been anchor all the years for 
his quick impulsive spirit. But still lying awake he said 
again, this time under his breath, “I believe I’ve got it. 
I’ll watch and see how it works out.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 

U HCLE GARRET, my real name ia Joan, like I say it 
myself, not ‘Jo-ann,’ the way you call it.” 

“O, is that so?” said the old man imperturbably. “It’s 
news to me. There have been four of you, and the first one 
started out ‘ Jo- Ann,’ named for her father who was Jo and 
her mother who was Ann. If the others as time went on 
chose to run them together, and give them that witchey 
sound, it’s no concern of mine, since I know what are the 
proper facts. Pretty soon you’ll be having visions, and ‘see- 
ing things,’ like the French one the sound of whose name 
you would like to ape.” 

Joan had been on duty in the wing rooms for several days, 
sorting papers and pamphlets from out the deep closet where 
they lay in scattered bunches on floor and shelf, dusty, tat- 
tered and yellowed, most of them, stored in the deep old 
closet all the years that Halfway had been closed. Yester- 
day it had been Belcher’s Almanacs to hunt from out the 
confusion, for Uncle Garret had secured the issues brought 
out in his absence from the country, and wanted the com- 
plete set, to date. So Joan had mounted to the high upper 
shelves, had looked through the piles upon the floor, and 
overturned boxes and baskets, all in vain attempt to round 
up the missing numbers, her fingers so dusty that it made 
her mouth dry to even feel them. If you are out all night, 
and get the cows, you do not mind the weariness of the long 
search, but to return without them keeps every detail of the 
fruitless effort fresh in your mind with a dead fatigue. So 
Joan had begun her task to-day with the clog of yesterday’s 

75 


70 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


unavailing search, her eyes in pursuit not only of the fugitive 
almanacs, hut also alert for the old blue covered magazines 
of Nova Scotia History in which Murdock’s work was first 
published, and this double quest in the dim light was trying 
to even youthful nerve. Moreover, it seemed that every 
time she set her foot upon a lower shelf with one hand se- 
curely agrip of an upper, and its contents in range of her 
sight, that Uncle Garret would summon her to him for some- 
thing else, always beginning his call with her name, long 
drawn and strident. It nettled her, the reiteration of it and 
the mangling of its soft sound, and her protest had sprung 
impulsive to her lips, horn of her weariness and presumed 
upon by the intimacy of the long day together. In her his- 
tories she had read the story of the “maid,” had always 
loved to hear her name, and in a dim unuttered sense had 
risen to its romance. So understanding the curt allusion to 
the visions, she stood by her guns. 

“I can ‘see things/ ” said she, “things I am going to have 
some day. I see them just as plain.” 

“0! do you!” 

“I haven’t ever had any really good times, to he remem- 
bering about, and so I have to make up things that might 
come, to keep me going.” 

“To keep you going — umph!” said Uncle Garret, with a 
keen look at the eager little face, and the blue Wisdom eyes 
that were not looking into his, but away somewhere, bent 
upon that outward quest. 

“Well,” said he, continuing somewhat less gruffly, “you 
have reached a place where you’ll have some pleasant things 
without ‘imagining’ them, if you behave as you ought, now 
that you are my adopted daughter.” 

Joan turned quickly toward him. “Adopted daughter! 
Why, I never thought I was that.” 

“You signed the papers that made you one, at the School.” 

“But I didn’t know it,” said she ; “I thought it was some- 
thing about leaving the School.” 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


77 


“Well, you have learned a lesson; never put your name 
to a document without knowing what you are up against 
and reading it clear through, yourself. There are more 
fools, mostly women folk, too, who sign themselves into all 
kinds of trouble — asking no explanation, hut putting down 
the name the laws of the land gave them to stand by, sign- 
ing away property, and comfort, and often life itself in the 
end. The deed is done now in this matter of yours, but re- 
member my counsel, for another time. I thought I could 
take better care of you if you were hound to stay. It was not 
because I wanted to leave you my property, as I’ve told you 
before, for that all goes to found a Men’s Home, where old 
derelicts can be taken care of in peace and plenty without 
some woman hectoring about them with advice and red flan- 
nel and boneset tea. — You understand? Your Aunt Hetty 
does. I’ll leave her enough for bed and board and wardrobe, 
as I give it now, but no more. She’ll have to skirmish 
around herself if she wants any extra fixings. If you are 
dutiful, and please me, I’ll do the same by you, but this 
house and the property I am acquiring will be a Home where 
■old men can board with self-respect, free from trundling and 
badgering of women folk. Do you understand, Jo-ann?” 

Joan this time felt sure she did, for it was without doubt 
plain speech. And yet it did not turn her against the old 
Uncle, but started a new feeling within her heart, a wish 
that she might find out some way to be more to him than 
mere ministration of hand and foot, to lead him if possible 
into more pleasant paths, a vague flitting of the Ideal that 
he whom they had called Silas had set before her that day 
at the Post Office. But the Ideal fled outright at his next 
words, grim and scornful. “Your Aunt Hetty tells me that 
you think you have been here before. Is that one of the 
things you ‘imagine’ ?” 

J oan’s eyes quickly met his own, the hurt yet half-defiant 
look in their glance. “I couldn’t have only imagined it, for 
the Postmaster told me about it himself, first; and then I 


78 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


knew it was so because it fitted in with what had seemed so 
queer — as if I was coming back to things that I had seen 
before.” 

“Sit down,” said he, “and tell me what you think you 
really know about it all. We will leave the rest of the 
pamphlets for to-morrow. Why did you not come direct to 
me with your story? It does not please me for you to go 
gathering news around the countryside. Another thing, while 
we are on such topics, I want you to know that it is not 
necessary to tell that you are adopted, not even to your Aunt 
Hetty, at present ; and keep your knowledge also from Alex- 
ander and the Mailman and the rest of the people with whom 
you seem to be on such very good terms for so short an 
acquaintance.” He saw the half start she made at the sting 
of his words. 

“Sit down again,” said he in more kindly tone. “The 
fault may be mine that I have not given you opportunity to 
talk with me. Now is one. Tell me all the things you ‘re- 
member,’ Jo-ann.” 

She hesitated for a moment, then came the thought that 
if she did now as he bade her, she might, while the waters 
were stirred, step in and ask about the place they called the 
Island, and the people there whom Captain Nat had said were 
as much her relations as was Uncle Garret, and so she began 
her story. 

Here and there, as she told one and another of the mem- 
ories that had been so intangible and dreamlike but had 
turned into real experiences, he interjected his comment or 
question, pulling her up sharp, or dismissing some irrelevant 
point, listening quietly at other times with unfeigned inter- 
est, till finally the recital was at an end, and the narrative of 
Joan’s poor little drear bare life, all that she could remem- 
ber of it, was before him, to date. She had told it well, he 
noted that, not once tripping at his interruptions. All the 
facts that belonged to one occurrence she had grouped, so 
that it was distinct of itself, and the whole a series of these 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


79 


pictures, each in its setting of place and peoples. It pleased 
the old man, crabbed and harsh as he was. He had observed 
the disposition to keep order with her hands, the papers and 
books in even stacks, her quick deft motions, and now this 
recital showed him also an ordered mind. 

“Good stuff ! ” said he to himself, “good stuff,” and his gruff 
expression somewhat uplifted, so that Joan dared make the 
plunge about the Island kin; and it was characteristic of 
another trait within her that she took a straight dive and did 
no splashing about. 

“Who lives at the place Captain Nat called the Island?” 
she asked. 

“The people who own it. — ” Uncle Garret had not been 
taken off his guard. 

“What is it like, the Island?” 

It pleased him to be facetious while he turned over in his 
mind what should be his final determination concerning the 
intercourse between Joan and the other branch of the family. 

“An island,” said he, “in the school-books that I learned 
from, was defined as a piece of land all surrounded by water 
— I presume the same meaning holds to-day as to islands in 
general, but this particular one is only a piece of land higher 
than its surrounding meadow; possibly at some time in its 
history the water flowed over the meadow and the name has 
been thus handed down. After my grandfather built Half- 
way a step-brother of his came to the country also, and set- 
tled on this place we know as the Island. We call that 
family the ‘halves/ and it is some of them who now live 
there.” 

It was his judicial air, the tone and speech in which he 
conducted his tribunals, and his listener felt the awe of it, 
but being profoundly curious about those other kindred, was 
not yet silenced. 

“Are they old people ?” she asked. 

“Presumably so; what you yourself would call old. They 


80 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


are your grandfather’s sister, and brother, and would be 
your great-aunt and uncle.” 

“0, would they be real ones, and can I go and see them 
soon ? I thought you said I hadn’t any others beside you ” 

“What I did say, was that there were ‘none to speak of,’ 
and I meant what I said. After this, Jo-ann, you will not 
question any remark of mine. As for visiting the Island 
and making the acquaintance of the Island family, you will 
not do either, with my consent.” 

She looked at him with surprise. “Wouldn’t they be ex- 
pecting to know me ?” 

Uncle Garret had by now determined upon his course. 

“The two households,” said he, “have not been on friendly 
terms for many years, for a good reason, which it is not 
necessary to explain at present. Halfway has room enough 
for you to wander in, and I have occupation for you, and in 
case you do not properly understand I will tell you plainly 
that I do not wish you to go to the Island, nor to open up 
friendship with those who live there, nor to question others 
about them. It is enough for you to hear my instructions 
and to follow them out. You may go now,” and he turned 
to his desk, his voice and manner so downbearing and final 
that Joan felt as if a weight had descended upon her and 
shackles about her feet. How could she ever be free enough 
to help him, or to talk with him, when he repulsed her with 
such curt dismissal at every approach; and the wistful dis- 
appointment was in the backward glance she gave him as 
she left the room. He caught the expression and it bothered 
him, as a cowed one would have not, but with no regret for 
his stern decree, nor change of mood. For presently com- 
ing in his writing to a bit of information needed from a 
back number of the ‘Star,’ and that especial paper eluding 
the search within his reach, he called her back to hunt it up, 
losing his temper outright when she could not find it; sum- 
moning Aunt Hetty also to the quest, 1 and even having Pelig 
who sometimes had the reading of it, brought in to answer a 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


81 


charge of appropriation or destruction thereof — when all 
three failed in their efforts, bursting forth in such petulant 
and stormy abuse that Joan was fairly frightened and beat 
a hasty retreat at his angry command, with tears upon her 
cheeks. 

“Don’t mind him,” proffered Pelig good naturedly, coming 
out a few minutes afterwards, leaving Aunt Hetty by virtue 
and privilege of lawful wife to bear the tail of the storm. 

“He has the best place in the county, and the most money, 
and knows more than anybody around, and yet he’s letting 
his bile pizen his whole life, and I’d rather have Hard- 
scrabble and nothing, than be Garret Wisdom the way he 
behaves himself.” 

“That’s a funny name, ‘Hardscrabble.’ Is it a place?” 
Joan was evidently diverted, and that was just what Pelig 
had intended. 

“You ought to see it,” said he, “granite boulders, scrub 
pine and blueberry bushes, and once in a while a pocketful 
of earth enough for a starvation farm. But it’s not up to 
me to run it down, seeing as I was born there — and I’d 
sooner stay there too, with the bad luck of the Hardscrabble 
Wisdoms, than have Halfway and the Squire’s temper. I 
guess I best not talk to you any more now, for he might 
come down on you for it. If you set the pail by the gar- 
den gate I’ll fetch the water up for you to-night,” and with 
a pull at his ruddy shock, in salute, he left her. 

But when Aunt Hetty had emerged from out the storm 
centre, and she and Joan had made ready the evening meal 
in the big old dining-room, he came in and joined them, 
taking his place at the cover that was always laid for him but 
which he had never sat up to since J oan’s arrival. And she 
was astonished to hear the ease of his speech, here and there 
wrongly pronounced words, but flowing and balanced as if 
from a book. Her eyes were yet red with traces of her tears, 
and little Aunt Hetty had evidently met more than the usual 
buffetting, so Pelig’s presence and conversation lifted and 


82 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


lightened them both. He had been up the chain of lakes, in 
big timber tracts, and told them of the moose that came down 
at dawn to the water’s rim to drink, the silver-hacked loons 
upon the bosom of the lake, the soft plumed owls in noiseless 
flight, the Indian encampment at the Falls. He told it vividly, 
with the same quality Joan herself had shown that afternoon 
to Uncle Garret, so that they saw it almost plain as if with 
eye and sense; saw also the other little homely pictures of 
the farm that he set before them, the nests of eggs he had 
found in the hedge row that morning, the flock of little gos- 
lings upon the creek, and a bank of strawberries nearly ripe 
for eating. 

By and by when Joan went in for the supper-tray she had 
taken to Uncle Garret before they themselves sat down, she 
suddenly remembered having seen a folded “Star” in one of 
the drawers of his desk when she had been sent there for a 
document, and receiving permission to get it, found it was 
indeed the missing paper. But though it had been put there 
by his own hand, she got no commendation for revealing 
its hiding place, only a stern reproof instead, that she had 
not before remembered ; and orders to be left by himself for 
the evening. So when the gay flowered china had been 
washed and set back upon its shelf, she sought out Aunt 
Hetty, already established in her rocker by the western win- 
dow, patchwork basket upon her knee, looking as untroubled 
and serene of face as if only fine weather and fair winds 
attended her course throughout. Joan herself still smarted 
under the harsh fault-finding words, resenting the unjust 
blame put upon them all, almost a terror within her at his 
anger and scorn, and a wonder that anybody could bear it 
unmoved ! 

“Aren’t you ever afraid of Uncle Garret when he is like 
that?” she asked. 

Aunt Hetty considered, and gave Joan a look-over. This 
was the first occasion that the two of them together had been 
'under storm and ban, but there would be many another, and 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


83 


it was not too soon perhaps to give her a hint as to how 
she might weather the gales with least effect upon herself. 

“I am and I’m not,” said she. “ I make myself think I’m 
not, because I can get along better with it that way. I knew 
what to expect, when I married him, for his other wife was 
my own sister, and I often visited them in the West. He 
led her a hard life because she would answer him hack and 
try to show him the error of his ways, and it was poor policy, 
for instead of repenting of them he always blamed her for 
objecting to what he had said or done, and so the tables 
were turned and she was the one who had to sue for peace, 
woman’s ways, with an extra good dinner or some such thing ; 
and he got complete upper hand and she couldn’t call her soul 
her own. By keeping quiet, and not talking hack, I get what 
I want, mostly, and Providence has favoured me in laying 
him up with rheumatism, so he can’t get around the house 
much.” 

“But he scolds so even when you haven’t done a thing!” 
protested Joan, still unconvinced of the secret of Aunt 
Hetty’s serenity, “and he talks so hard and loud, sometimes, 
and loses his temper so quick.” 

“They all do, all men, more or less,” rejoined Aunt 
Hetty, “and I who have had three husbands, ought to know. 
A parson is as bad as a peddler, in proportion to the light 
that is given him. My second was a licensed preacher, and 
had had moods as the first, hut he likened them to King 
Saul’s, and got out of it in that Scripture fashion, himself, 
hut it didn’t help me out any. You must learn not to mind 
your Uncle’s ways, if you are to live here with him.” 

“And don’t you really care, yourself? Wouldn’t you like 
it if he was pleasant all the time ? You look so pretty, Aunt 
Hetty, and you dress so much nicer than I ever saw anybody 
else dress — I don’t see how he dares to talk to you so.” 

A flush came into the little old face, and the shrewd grey 
eyes softened with a longing light for an instant, her hands 


•84 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

dropping idle upon the patchwork pieces within the basket’s 
depths. 

“We’ll not talk any more about it now,” said she presently. 
“Your Uncle is what circumtsances have made him, and we 
get on very well, considering. When I married the first one 
I did not know enough to keep a still tongue — it took two 
of them to teach me that, and I am trying it out now, and if 
a woman can’t learn to manage a husband after being 
favoured with three, then she is poor stuff herself. Most all 
the quarrels in the world could have been stopped if only 
somebody in the beginning had known enough not to answer 
back — and half of all a man’s temper is only bluster, any- 
way, to show he is master — it’s their make up. You had 
better get the fresh water from the spring, now, and then 
it will be time for young folks like you to be abed. I want 
to get my Philadelphia-Pavement pieced up, and it rattles 
me to talk and match. I’ve got this last block all wrong, 
and will have to take it apart. Good-night,” and Joan was 
dismissed. 

But when she had got through her usual round of duties 
in the wing rooms, and had received a cold “good-night, 
Jo-ann,” from the master within them, she came back to where 
Aunt Hetty was sitting. The long June day was at an end but 
the glow of the sun’s going down was still upon the earth, 
and it seemed dreadful to have to go upstairs alone, where 
it was so still and dusky, while here in this western win- 
dowed room was light and company. 

“I wish I could stay down with you awhile,” she said, “I 
won’t bother you when you’re matching, and when you can’t 
see to sew couldn’t we go all through the house, — you said 
you would show it to me, and I’d like to go in every bit 
of it. It’s so nice and big, I just love it, don’t you?” 

The piecer of patchwork was not anxious for company. 
The blocks of one row were before her upon the floor, and 
she was laying forth another beyond it, an imaginary row, 
to get the sequence for the corner square, with outstretched 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


85 


hand patting the air above each block and saying over its 
colour, “pink, blue, grey — pink, blue, brown — pink, blue,” 
the interruption bothered her, and J oan’s mere plea for com- 
pany would have been denied, but the “loving” Halfway 
clinched the matter, for Aunt Hetty too loved the big old 
place and was proud to be its mistress. 

“I suppose you may stay,” she yielded, “but Halfway is 
not properly seen at night. We have poor lights here in the 
country, and we’ll wait for daylight to go through it. It was 
wasteful pride to build it so big, but I own it pleases me, 
and I always thought when I was a girl that I’d like to live 
here ; that was one reason why I was willing to marry your 
Uncle. I had to live in small houses with both other hus- 
bands, and we’ll all be in a narrow one soon enough with no 
room to turn, so I’m glad to have a place where I can spread 
my things about, upstairs and down, and off in rooms you 
don’t open often; it satisfies me, and makes up, some, for 
other things. We had no spare chamber in my last home, 
and being a licensed preacher the delegates always came to 
us, and I was all the time moving out and fixing up my own 
room for them, so now I like to know there are those four 
big ones upstairs ready any minute for anybody who comes, 
and I often go and peep into them, white and clean and 
smelling nice with the sweet-clover bags and lavender scent- 
ing them. Hannah makes me the sweet-clover cushions. 
She is Captain Nat’s sister, and they have a double row of it 
all down to the pasture, in blossom time as high up as your 
neck, and so sweet it nearly strangles you to walk through. 
Hannah says it’s the only time she is ever “in clover,” and 
you’ll find her there early and late gathering the flowers 
while the dew is on them. She pretends she only keeps 
it growing for the bags she makes for every one of us at 
Michaelmas time, but down underneath Hannah is senti- 
mental as anybody, covering it over atop with hard ways 
like most of the other Wisdoms do.” 

She looked up musingly from her sewing. “I’m due to 


JO AH AT HALFWAY 


go up there for a visit soon, and maybe I’ll take you with 
me. It’s a big house, too, and plenty of places in it to amuse 
you. We’ve none of those bungalow buildings around here — 
every room on the ground floor and all jumbled together, 
young folks and old, in diving-rooms’ they call them, and 
‘dens’ — no privacy. You can’t tell me that a girl will grow up 
as nice and dainty in a ‘living-room’ and a ‘den,’ as she would 
with a more formal parlour to sit in for every day, a 
drawing-room for Sundays and high company, a big chest 
with locker in it for her treasures, and a chamber all her own. 
Ho ‘dens’ for me!” 

A smile curled Joan’s lips, and deepened into the dimples 
in her cheeks that were going to he the undoing of some 
man some day; sweet, shy dimples that like the smile that 
brought them out had been given few chances for show. 

“A ‘den’ would he a good name for Uncle Garret’s room, 
wouldn’t it?” said she. 

Aunt Hetty stiffened a bit. She had been feeling that 
she may have talked too freely about her husband, and was 
not to be caught a second time even with the dimples that 
spread so sweet for her entangling, but she sensed the apt- 
ness of the allusion and relaxed a bit. 

“I have often thought I would like to have a house-warm- 
ing, everybody all at once instead of scattered along as they 
usually come — a real supper-party, all the nearest relations — 
and get squared off with them at one sitting; then I’d feel 
free to start out again on my round without asking back so 
often. Maybe we could manage it bye and bye. You would 
be quite a help to me.” 

“0, my, I wish you would,” urged Joan eagerly. “Would 
there be the Postmaster, and Captain Hat and the one you 
call Hannah ? I was never at a party in all my life. Phoebe 
would come and help ” 

“Phoebe wouldn’t come for help. For a time like that 
she’d come for company or not come at all. She hasn’t more 
than a drop of the blood in her veins, as she often tells us 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


87 


when she’s roused against any of them, but she sets great 
store by it for weddings and funerals, where they all meet 
together. We couldn’t get through the preparations alone, 
for there would be sixteen or twenty all told, and I would do 
it in keeping with Halfway if I did it at all ” 

Joan could almost see them, twenty people, all her own 
relations, sitting in the grand drawing-room, and at the big 
table. “O, don’t give it up, Aunt Hetty,” she pleaded, “please 
don’t. I’ll work so hard to help, and O, I know somebody 
else, the Mailman said you called her the Skipper, the one 
who lives in that funny little house on the rocks, wouldn’t 
she come ? She isn’t any kin, is she ?” 

Aunt Hetty thought a bit — “I dare say she might, and that 
girl she took is about your size, and could do some things. I 
need some extra washing done now, blankets and quilts. Your 
Uncle Garret hates her, — some old quarrel about her land, 
but she likely needs money and would he glad to come, and 
we could keep her out of the way so she wouldn’t bother 
him. I guess since you know where she lives I’ll have you 
go down one day this week and see when she’ll he free to 
come. I’ve never asked her before, hut we’ll see how it works 
out this time and what kind of help she would likely he 
for the party. And if you like the look of the girl you 
can tell her to come too. I hear she is a likely little thing 
and very nice in her ways, and it would he a hit of young 
company for you. Lisbeth is her name.” 

“Would it be soon, the party?” 

“0 no, I have three more places yet where they owe me a 
visit. And I want my Philadelphia-Pavement quite done, 
and the Kising-Sun set up. They are all wild to have a 
Pising-Sun hut I am the only one who has the pattern, and 
I’d like to have it all cut out and well started when they 
come — It’s my twenty-seventh figure, and I don’t know 
whether I’ll ever want to make another, for they say this is 
terribly trying to your patience and nerves.” 

It almost looked like a delectable probability that the 


88 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


party would come off, and then suddenly came a chilling 
thought to Joan. “Will Uncle Garret want it?” she asked, 
with an almost outright knowledge in her heart that he would 
not, and fearful that even the question might by bringing 
it to light cause a throw-up of it all. But the little woman 
who had snared three husbands and pieced twenty-seven pat- 
terns of patchwork had not reckoned without her host on 
this occasion. 

“If we have it, we will not tell him about it beforehand,” 
said she placidly, folding away the pink and blue blocks atop 
the sombre browns and greys within the basket. 

“But what would he say!” gasped Joan, an all too vivid 
recollection ringing in her ears of the recent stormy period, 
and also the previous one which had descended upon them 
after Aunt Hetty’s bold dash in the top-buggy. 

“I’ve thought it all out, often, and the only way we could 
possibly have it would be to invite them and let them come, 
and then take what happens. I have never been forbidden 
to have a company, and so am not disobeying orders. If 
worst comes to worst, it will be only his own folks he’ll show 
off to, they are no real relation of mine; nor is he for that 
matter. And I surely ought to be able to have a party in my 
own house,” said Aunt Hetty with a finality of tone that 
left no further doubt as to her intent. She did not make 
her utterances in continuous stretch, they were detached, and 
broken, with pauses between, where a square needed trim- 
ming, a needle threaded, a proper word chosen ; an even and 
tuneless intonation about it all that gave no colour to the 
speech. But courageous she doubtless was, in spite of the 
abstracted tones, and the rebel Wisdom spirit slumbering in 
her young listener’s heart rose to the daring of it. “But what 
would he say, and what would he do !” she thought. 

Aunt Hetty gave her no time for further reflection. The 
interview plainly was at an end, for the work-basket was set 
away, the books and papers snugged in even piles, and the 
lamps lighted for the night’s duties. They made no evenings 


THE MEADOW ISLAND 


89 


after dark at Halfway, those long summer twilights. So 
with a second good-night Joan slipped away upstairs, tip- 
toeing down again carefully, to get the big mug of water 
she had set upon the step when filling Uncle Garret’s jug 
afresh, and drinking it all up before she had even reached the 
top landing. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever, ever get enough she said to her- 
self, “and even when I can’t hold any more, I want it just 
the same — I wonder if I caught it from Uncle Garret!” 

And with thought of him came memory of his harsh mood 
of the afternoon, of his cold and curt good-night, his angry 
speech to the little old Aunt. But when she was upon her 
bed, and the day’s doings and those things she would like 
to do, sometime, spread out before her “seeing” eyes, the 
plans for the party stretched out plainest and most desirable. 
And the daring of the way Aunt Hetty was to bring it to 
pass made Joan think of her other venture, the horse and 
buggy taken without consent, almost under Uncle Garret’s 
nose, and the terrible tempest that had descended upon them 
all in consequence. He was awful, awful that day! Still 
wasn’t it splendid that he didn’t scold about her to Captain 
Hat ! — and it someway warmed her heart a little toward him, 
remembering it — “Hetty is a fine hand with horses " — so 
proud and cool ! It made her laugh now to even remember 
it. And all in the dim starlit room the dimples deepened 
again in her cheeks, and for the first time since she came to 
Halfway Joan fell asleep with a smile upon her face. 


CHAPTEK IX 


SKIPPER JANETS DAUGHTER 

L ISBBETH belonged to the Skipper only as love maketh 
a bond. She had been deposited at the cabin door, a 
scantily clothed little waif with wan freckled face and black 
shadowy eyes, on her way from the poor-farm to a family 
in the neighbouring district. The meat-cart which was her 
conveyance had broken down just in front of the yard, the 
little passenger with a scattered array of beef and bacon 
and legs of lamb thrown to the ground. The fall hurting 
afresh an already crippled knee, she was brought to the cabin, 
the driver agreeing to call for her when he could get his 
damaged cart repaired and again make his weekly round. 

’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and what 
lost the butcher-man his market day gained Lisbeth a home, 
for when the week had passed and the man appeared for his 
charge the little girl had someway crept into the strange old 
woman’s affections and she refused to let her go, insisting 
that she would herself keep her without aid from county or 
district. The home she had to proffer was small and plain, 
but seemed a very Paradise to the child whose days ever 
since she could remember had been spent in the rickety Poor- 
House on the hill or with some family who was willing to 
board her out for the sake of the small pittance the county 
allowed, and the many odd chores her little six-year-old hands 
and feet were made to perform. 

“They call me Bet, or Lib,” she replied when the woman 
first asked her name. But at night when she was being put 
to bed she said, “My really name is Lisbeth, for the Doctor 
up at the Earm told me so and he knows about everybody 

90 


SKIPPER JAKE’S DAUGHTER 


91 


there. I’ve never been called it yet, because they always 
said it took too long to say. I think it’s a beautiful name, 
and if you’ll only just call me by it one whole day I’ll let 
you go back to ‘Bet’ again.” 

But the woman who had neither child nor any one be- 
side left with right to love, had hugged the little wistful 
scrawny face close to her own for answer, and never once 
in all the years since had been too busy to salute her with 
aught but the good full name; nor ever once in the same 
years regretted her adoption, nor begrudged even if she 
sometimes was forced to count the extra bites it took to keep 
her. 

The charity from poor to poor goes sweetly up on high, 
and the Skipper’s added blessings had been steadier work 
than she had ever before got, and a happier home than she 
had known for many a year. 

“What will I call you ?” the child had asked next morning 
as the woman was starting out for a day’s work, after mi- 
nute directions as to what Lisbeth should or should not do 
while alone. 

“Whatever you like. They call me the Skipper around 
here, or Jane, either one will do.” 

The black shadowy eyes met the older ones. “Haven’t 
you got any real and truly name too, that you like best?” 

Something awakened in the heart of the Skipper, and the 
emotion of it swept up over the hard old face. “I have,” 
said she, “and it’s a prettier one than yours. It is Miriam, 
but like yours it took too long to say. It was my mother’s 
name.” 

The child slipped a hand with simple winning gesture into 
the Skipper’s own. “I have to like mine the best, too,” she 
said, “because you always have to like your own things the 
nicest or else you break the laws of stone.” 

“Who told you that ?” 

“Granny Squires up at the work-house. She has the 
laws of stone hanging up on her wall; and she had an old 


92 


JOAN AT HALEWAY 


torn quilt and I had a pretty flower one that a girl gave 
me, and Granny Squires said she had to like hers best even 
if it was ragged, or else she’d he wanting mine, and break 
a law. She taught me the easy ones, about killing and steal- 
ing, and she knows them all and keeps every one, even the 
awful long ones, so she’ll go to Heaven, she says.” 

The woman smiled grimly. “Long or short, ‘Thou shalt 
not’ is hard to keep, for most of us,” said she. “But we’ll 
leave that alone now, and you obey the ones I’ve told to-day ; 
no matches, door locked, and no meddling in drawers or 
boxes. You’ll be a lot of company to come home to, I see, 
and I’m glad you’re here, Lisbeth.” 

“And can I call you the Miriam name ?” asked the child. 
“I think it’s the next nicest to mine.” 

“If you like,” said the woman, “but only by ourselves. 
Jane will do when other folks are around,” and patting the 
freckled little face in good-bye, she was off. 

The years had gone on apace, and Lisbeth was now a girl 
of seventeen. Her thin cheeks had filled out, the freckles 
had disappeared, in their stead a lovely wild-rose colour that 
gave the wan face a strange charm, creeping clear up to the 
black eyes that still held their shadows. The lame knee had 
kept her from regular attendance at school, but in the few 
weeks possible each term, she was able to absorb the knowl- 
edge of the books with a wonderful ease, going over each 
lesson to the Skipper at the day’s close, and talking of it 
to her with an interest that spread it plain as a picture be- 
fore the older mind. 

Always a strange and silent woman even when first liv- 
ing in the settlement during her husband’s life time, the 
Skipper had by now grown sharp and morose, the necessity 
that compelled her to work for others hardening her heart 
toward everything but Lisbeth; and holding no intercourse 
with people beyond the requirements of her labour. So 
Lisbeth was seldom away from the cabin except when at 
school, and until the past two years had experienced no de- 


SKIPPER JAKE’S DAUGHTER 


93 


sire to venture beyond tbe simple home, well content with 
the shelter it afforded her and the woman’s kind if stolid 
care. 

But dawning girlhood had stirred new impulses, unrest, 
dreams, and vague longings to be up and doing out in what 
was the world, unexpressed but visible to the woman who 
watched with growing wonder and often puzzled mien to 
see the child merge into maidenhood, the roses bud and 
bloom upon her white face, the spare throat fill to roundness, 
and a lissome grace of movement that changed her whole 
bearing. 

It was in these days that the Skipper began to be con- 
cerned about the lameness that sometimes kept the girl in- 
doors for weeks at a time, then would seemingly disappear, 
to return again sudden and sharp at some extra exertion. 
And between them it was decided that they would take the 
washings from the mine officials’ homes down the river, 
to earn money for a trip to town to consult a doctor, Lisbeth 
washing at home while J ane was absent, the two thus getting 
double wage. 

Scanty room there was for laundry work inside the small 
cabin, so the tubs and their paraphernalia were kept under 
the little bridge that spanned the river just below the 
house. Swift the water flowed just there over its pebbly 
bottom, clear as glass, and here each day Lisbeth washed. 
Drivers to the mill in the early morning as they crossed the 
river could hear the plash splash of suds and dub-a-dub-dub 
of board, beneath the bridge, or perhaps see the white gar- 
ments fastened by stones spreading out upon the swift cur- 
rent’s breast in the full copious rinsing of the running 
stream, or later in the forenoon the pieces hanging upon the 
lines that surrounded the little house, fluttering and flapping 
like spanking sails in a favouring breeze, as though the 
cabin was a-keel and ready with canvas ahoist for far away. 

Joan, coming to the little house at Aunt Hetty’s behest 
to engage Jane for the washing of the Halfway blankets, 


94 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


got no answer to her summoning knock. Through the half 
open door, she could plainly see inside. A strange looking 
interior it was, steps descending to it as if to a real cabin 
aboard ship, tables, chairs and beds attached to or sunk into 
floor and wall, two big sailor’s chests underneath the small 
round windows that looked like port-holes, and everything 
painted as blue as the ocean’s rolling deep ; the shining black 
cookstove making the only contrast. 

She would have loved to enter to see it throughout, hut 
would not set an obtruding foot therein unhidden, even if 
only a washerwoman’s abode, so turned reluctantly away and 
was crossing the bridge to return home by the shorter route, 
when she too heard the plash of suds, and peering down over 
the railing saw Lisheth at her task. A small fire burned 
upon the hank, over it hung the big pot of steaming water, 
and down almost under the bridge stood Lisheth, bare- 
footed, ankle deep in the limpid stream, holding out the 
cases to catch its running flow, wringing them with quick 
deft hands and throwing lightly and surely to the waiting 
basket higher up. One of the cases she swung round and 
round with its open end to the breeze, and gathering it 
quick together held aloft a long white balloon, slapping its 
taut fulness with the glee of a child upon her face, then 
plunging it in the stream again till it collapsed. 

Joan gazed down fascinated. It was the first young girl 
she had seen in all the weeks she had been here. Great-aunts 
and great-uncles, and distant cousins — all old and wrinkled 
and life far behind them, hut here was a real girl, like her- 
self, even if a washerwoman. And she smiled, the little 
crooked Wisdom smile at first, that begrudges letting peo- 
ple know you are really and truly happy — and then the smile 
blossomed out into the flower bloom that was just joyous 
earth, and life ahead instead of far behind. 

Then something else happened, that baffling sense of an 
occurrence which she could not recall, the tantalising dream 
fancy of having been there before with this girl with the 


SKIPPER JAKE’S DAUGHTER 


95 


black shadowy eyes. Only for the one brief moment was 
it beclouded, and then the light broke through, and she 
knew, she 'knew , now, what the Postmaster meant about the 
lost shoes and stockings story! 

“O, Lisbeth!” she cried, and jumping outright the wide 
rail landed on the shore beside the other girl. “Lisbeth, do 
you remember me? the day we washed dolls’ clothes here 
and went wading way down to the mill and I lost my shoes, 
— I was staying at some house near, don't you remember?” 
as no answering glow of recollection showed upon the girl’s 
face. 

“You came with a woman, and you and I played all day, 
— it’s just as plain to me now, but I couldn’t think it out 
before — and we had to shell dry beans, a whole firkin full, 
before she would let us play — and we cut our hands on the 
pods.” There suddenly the flash had been communicated 
to the other, illuminating the face that was small and oval as 
Joan’s own but brilliant with colour where Joan’s was creamy 
and dark. 

“How I do,” she said shyly, reaching over a hand crinkly 
from river water. “It was Mrs. Debbie’s. She always had 
me go over and shell her beans after that, till she died. Her 
house was up there on the hill and was burned down two 
or three years ago. I didn’t know it was you when I heard 
a girl had come to Halfway, and I didn’t think I’d be know- 
ing you ever — O !” And they both together cried out in con- 
sternation as the towels that Lisbeth had been wringing 
floated off out of hand’s reach down the swift current. Joan 
was nearest, and snatching what seemed a stick from the 
bank above, she followed fast down the river-side in pur- 
suit, soon returning with the runaway pieces, but with the 
stick snapped in two, and the smile gone from her lips. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, “I didn’t know it was a crutch, 
and now I’ve broken it, and what will you do ? Aunt Hetty 
said you were lame sometimes, but I forgot. I needn’t have 
broken it. I can’t help doing things so hard; it’s something 


96 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


in me lately that makes me want to pound and hit every- 
thing, and reach up, and reach down, and lift heavy things. 
Could I get you anything else from the house to walk with ? 
O, I wish I hadn’t done it.” 

“It’s nothing to mind about,” said the girl. “I can get on 
without it, hut I always bring it if I feel any twinges in my 
knee, and this morning I felt them some, that’s all.” 

“What makes you stand in the water ? IJncle Garret has 
rheumatism and he is so careful about his legs. I wouldn’t 
think it was good to he in the water if you have a lame 
knee.” 

“We don’t worry much about it,” replied Lisbeth with 
that disregard for ailments that the very poor so often evince. 
“Sometime we are going to see if the doctor can cure it. 
That’s what I do the washing for, and I hurry fast as I can 
every day so I’ll he through when Jane comes, for lately she 
says she can’t hear to see me doing it. But I can stop 
awhile now before I have to hang them out,” and she sat 
down beside Joan upon the flat shelving rocks that pushed 
up from the river’s bed, like reefs, stretching across clear 
through the cabin’s yard. 

“It’s funny about us being here once before,” said Joan. 
“Didn’t you ever think of it when you were washing?” 

“No, I guess I forgot it all, but it was what you said 
about shelling the beans made me remember, for I had to 
do all she had, every year after that. Jane never took me 
many places where she worked, but I always went there with 
her, and I could do lots of things for Mrs. Betty. She wasn’t 
very kind to some children, Jane said, but she was always 
good to me.” 

“Is Jane your aunt? Everybody around here is an aunt 
or an uncle or a cousin.” 

“There’s nobody an aunt or an uncle to me, but Jane 
is as good as if she was really one, for I came from the Poor- 
house to her, and she’s kept me ever since. She hasn’t any 
folks herself, and I haven’t either.” 


SKIPPER JAKE’S DAUGHTER 


97 

“Well, we’ll be folks, you and I, now,” said Joan. “I 
haven’t seen a girl my own age since I came, and I’ve been 
to meeting twice, and to the Post Office and store. Every 
body must be old. I wonder why.” 

“The place is drying up, Jane says,” explained Lisbeth, 
hesitatingly, like one who seldom had an audience for spoken 
thought. “She says it will be all shut up and gone to pas- 
ture land in twenty years, because there aren’t any new 
ones coming in, and the mines down the river draw all the 
people. It’s what you call too slow. There hasn’t been a 
circus for years and years, and no wonder the young folks 
left, Jane says. There used to be gipsies, and I’ve seen the 
place where they used to camp, but she wouldn’t let me 
go down the road where they said there was an old gipsy 
man, one year. Somebody told me he was there again, now, 

and I’d love to see a real gipsy Would you dare go?” 

she asked turning full face upon her visitor. 

It was a call to the blood of youth. Joan heard it. 
“Wouldn’t I !” said she, in a tone that left no doubt what- 
ever as to her desire. “But how could you go if you are 
lame ?” 

“I’ll choose a time in between when it’s not so bad, and if 
you want to do a thing much as I do that, why, you don’t 
mind if it does hurt some. It’s a long road, but it’s a 
beautiful one, and so still, no houses on it I guess, and a 
lovely high hill all the way, on one side.” 

Joan interrupted her “O, I know where it is, I do 

believe. Is it that narrow dear one that turns off by the 
Forks, that you only see a little bit of and then it’s lost ?” 

But Lisbeth shook her head. “I don’t know myself how it 
looks from the post-road, for we just turned in on it a lit- 
tle way when we were blueberrying, and a woman told me 
if you followed it up, you’d come to where the gypsies used 
to be; Jane never lets me away much and I don’t know how 
the roads start or end. We never go to meeting, and we 
never have any mail so I don’t go to the office ; and I’m done 


08 


JOA1ST AT HALFWAY 


school now so I don’t see many people. Jane says if a girl 
is ont of sight she’s likely to he out of mischief.” 

“I don’t see any mischief you could get into. Everybody 
is old and good around here, and you and I could be together 
a lot now.” 

“Up at Halfway they’ll not likely let you be with me much, 
when they know; we’re just poor, Jane and I, and that’s 
such a big house. I saw it once when we were riding down 
to the mines, last month, and it was the queerest feeling but 
my feet almost pulled me out of the waggon to go up that 
lovely long lane and see inside the house, and when I told 
Jane she cried, the first time I ever saw her cry. I sup- 
pose she felt bad because we were poor and Halfway was 
so rich. She hates to be poor, but I don’t mind so much, be- 
cause there seems to be two of me, and one likes what I have, 
all right, and the other one of me makes believe I’ve got 
everything fine and rich; so when I have to do the washing 
or we don’t have enough money to buy the kind of hat and 
dress we’d like, why I keep thinking of fine things I’ve read 
about and heard about. When you called to me down from 
the bridge I was believing I was up at your big house, and 
had on a long train dress, a silk one like they say Mrs. Wis- 
dom always wears even when she is round her work. I know 
we won’t be allowed together much, but I’m awful glad you 
came to see me once.” 

Joan moved up a bit closer to the other girl. “Why, I’m 
not rich,” she said. “I was poor just like you, and had to 
work at places taking care of babies, till I was sent by some- 
body to a School. But that School was worse than the other 
places were, for we had to work so hard, and some of the 
girls were half foolish, and it was dreadful, except that I 
could learn some lessons there, and I do love books and to 
know things. So I’m no different from you, you see, really. 
I used to feel just like you did too about the hard things, 
that they couldn’t last always. I have never had a silk 
dress in my life, either, and I do love to see Aunt Hetty 


SKIPPER JAKE’S DAUGHTER 


99 


always wearing one. She never gets a speck on her no mat- 
ter what she’s doing, and she makes me do things without an 
apron on, so I’ll learn to work carefully. I’m sure she 
won’t keep me from coming here, for she sent me down her- 
self, to see if Jane would go up to Halfway a day, and to 
let you come too. We’ve had such a good time talking that 
I almost forgot all about it!” 

Lisbeth looked rueful! “Jane never takes me nowadays.” 

“O, but if you told her you wanted to ! You don’t mean 
you wouldn’t come!” 

“I do whatever she tells me, and so it wouldn’t he mine 
to say.” 

“You’re right, it’s not,” said a voice behind them, 
and the girls started to their feet, Lisbeth slipping a hand 
into the outstretched one of the woman’s who had spoker, 
and Joan with almost a frightened glance as she met the 
gaze of the piercing black eyes that looked down upon her. 
In utter silence for several moments the woman stood, look- 
ing upon them in sharp survey, turning from one to the other 
as if scanning each separate feature and comparing them, 
Her scrutiny over, she muttered some words to herself and 
turned away, a grim half smile curling her lips as if in 
mockery of some thought resultant from her inspection. 

Joan approached her. “I’m from Halfway, and I came 
to see if you could come and wash the blankets some day next 
week. Aunt Hetty sent me and she’d like you to come soon.” 

“How would she!” said the woman, with brows adroop 
over her black eyes. “Well, if Hetty Wisdom stayed home 
from visiting a few days she could wash the Halfway 
blankets herself. Tell her I’ll do it when the Almighty calls 
the Jews home.” And her mocking laugh rang out in finish to 
the harsh words. Joan shrank back at the laugh, giving a 
wondering look at the woman, and would have departed at 
once, but for Lisbeth. It seemed to her she just couldn’t 
give up knowing a real girl again, and having her come to 
spend a whole day in the big lonely house. And some spirit 


100 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


within, the courage that made her now and then not fear 
Uncle Garret and his harsh ways, suddenly came to her, and 
wholly unafraid she looked up beseechingly and frankly into 
the old hard eyes. 

“I wish you’d come, so Lisbeth could,” she said, “we could 
have such a good time. She’d love the garden, and the brook, 
and all over the house. I’ve never really played one minute 
since I came there. Won’t you please come, and bring her?” 

“Couldn’t we ?” urged Lisbeth with longing look, but 
puzzled to note the bitter uncivil manner toward the stranger. 

The woman laughed again, as mockingly. “Hun back 
Lome,” said she, “if you call it home, but there have been 
others before you call it that and yet lost it. Run back and 
give Garret Wisdom and Hetty his second wife my message,” 
and taking the basket of clothes upon her arm she reached 
out a helping hand to Lisbeth and walked away toward the 
cabin. 

With smarting eyes Joan climbed up the bank and out 
upon the roadway, hurrying along on her homeward stretch. 
The sharp words so fiercely uttered gave her a strange fright, 
like she sometimes felt when Uncle Garret was in one of his 
passions of temper. Would she dare give him this strange 
message? And what would Aunt Hetty say to it, herself? 

Presently a quick step sounded behind her. She was just 
at the oak-clump, and somewhat hidden from view. It was 
Jane-the-Skipper, and for one brief instant Joan’s young 
heart clutched tight with fear at sight of her upon the lonely 
road. 

“Wait,” called the woman, soon overtaking her. “I’ve 
changed my mind and decided to come. And that message 
I gave you you can keep to yourself. You’ll need to keep 

many more before you’re much older What you let 

loose is hard to bring in again, what you keep back you have. 
I’ll be up on Friday. I wouldn’t wash blankets for any- 
body else on Friday for it’s always a fulling day, but it’s 
good enough for Halfway; and Garret Wisdom would hoodoo 


SKIPPER JAKE’S DAUGHTER 


101 


the job anyway, lucky day or not. How do you wear your 
hair?” stepping closer and lifting with a quick hand Joan’s 
hat, “braided and wound around, I see. Uo need to tell him 
I’m bringing Lisbeth.” 

“O, will you, truly?” cried Joan. 

“I’ll not promise. Eriday’s a long way off, out remem- 
ber always to keep a still tongue if you want things to come 
to pass,” and she turned as swiftly as she had approached, 
and was out of sight behind the bend of the road. 


CHAPTER X 


ATnTD who is lisbeth ? 

J O AX could hardly wait with patience for wash day, for 
though Lisbeth lived in the funny little old cabin alid 
was only a “pick-up” as Phoebe termed it, something drew 
Joan to her with longing, and the bond that they had dis- 
covered of having played together away back in what seemed 
to them such a distant past, united them in memories, making 
her almost like real “folks.” She had been trying to bring 
to mind another event of that distant day; it was coming 
by bits, was not all out plain yet, and she wanted to tell it 
to Lisbeth to see if between them they could match it up, a 
memory of which Joan was rather ashamed, if it should 
prove to be a fact. 

“It’s not worth while saying anything to your TJncle Gar- 
ret about the girl coming, till we know she’s here,” said 
Aunt Hetty when Joan had returned with the message the 
Skipper had sent ; not that first dreadful one that seemed so 
profane, making her shudder to even recall it and so full of 
hatred that she couldn’t understand the reason for it — 
that one she held back, as the Skipper had counselled, but 
she puzzled over it most every night when she had snuggled 
down in her feather nest. Why would the woman dislike 
Aunt Hetty who never seemed to do things to hurt anybody ! 
And why would she feel so ugly and bitter toward Uncle 
Garret just because he wanted to buy her property! Any- 
way, what was the odds whether she liked or hated them, so 
long as she would only come to Halfway and bring Lisbeth 
for a whole day! And at thought of Lisbeth Joan’s face 
would grow soft, remembering the small wistful one with 

102 


AND WHO IS LISBETH? 


103 


the wild-rose colour, in the bridge’s shadow, and linking the 
picture with that other time so long ago when they had 
escaped from Mrs. Debbie’s stern watch and Polly-Ann’s 
fetching and carrying, to wade and wash in the lovely river 
that Joan’s feet had just ached to he paddling in again every 
time she had passed it. 

“Would Uncle Garret mind it much to have her here?” 
she asked, in answer to Aunt Hetty’s injunction as 
to silence concerning the plan. 

“He might and he might not, hut he’s more likely to than 
not to,” said Aunt Hetty, with the non-committal manner 
of speech acquired from the ten year’s intimate knowledge 
of her life’s partner. But since Joan seemed to long so for 
the girl’s company, Aunt Hetty decided it was best to put 
her on her guard against provoking opposition beforehand, 
which was Aunt Hetty’s way of getting along, and a very 
good way too considering the obstacles and hazards that be- 
set her life’s race on this third lap of it. 

“He is very proud, and doesn’t mix up with everybody,” 
said she in explanation. “I am that way myself, somewhat, 
but your uncle in his old age is extreme, civil to everybody 
to a certain extent, but wants nothing special to do with 
people who haven’t the backing that he thinks the Wisdoms 
all have ‘from on high/ ” said Aunt Hetty with a disdainful 
tilt of her head that made Joan almost want to laugh, and 
want to love her too if only the little Aunt had let her, which 
she didn’t. “Though I’ll admit,” she added, “it’s not that 
he judges mere money and fine clothes alone as signs and 
seals of the superiority, but something he calls cultivation, 
and a head to think out things, for generations back. The 
old schoolmaster whom you’ll see when we have our party, 
who owns only a bit of a place, and hardly enough to live on 
from hand to mouth, is honoured more by your uncle than 
the people who have money alone and think that their rec- 
ord depends upon that and their display of it. Probably 


104 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

lie will not like you to be playmate with a girl wbo came- from 
the Poorhouse.” 

“0, but Aunt Hetty, she’s a dear, and has such pretty 
bands, and lovely white teeth ; and she’s not noisy but has the 
nice kind of quiet way — something like you have,” said J oan, 
spreading a honeyed way to her desire. “0, please don’t 
change your mind about letting her come !” 

“Well, we’ll risk it,” said Aunt Hetty, thus snared; “but 
you must do what he wants of you meantime, and not pro- 
voke him in any way.” 

So Joan read aloud, kept his jug filled with the freshest 
of water, and continued the search for the missing periodicals, 
making herself so really useful in the wing rooms that Uncle 
Garret was well satisfied at his far sightedness in bringing 
her to Halfway. 

At length wash day dawned, bright and fair, the sun 
rising above the horizon’s rim with unmistakable fervour as 
if to say, “Well, I’m going to do my best to dry the Halfway 
woollens in spite of the Squire’s and the Skipper’s hoodoo.” 
And a gentle breeze that followed in its wake hurried up the 
long lanes, stirring the balm o’ Gilead leaves, and tossing the 
pine trees’ plumes as though adding “Here am I, use me too.” 
At the house everything was in readiness, great pots of water 
drawn and heated, breakfast cleared away, and a steaming 
pot of coffee upon the back of the range for the pedestrians’ 
refreshment. 

“I’m almost afraid even to look down the lane, for fear 
I’ll never see her coming up it,” announced Joan from the 
steps that commanded the pine tree’s stretch, watching with 
eager eyes, and listening meantime with ears intent to hear 
if perchance a call should summon her to the wing rooms. 
But Uncle Garret was at his desk occupied over papers and 
documents; and there was even a possibility that some men 
were coming whose business might keep him diverted for 
much of the day. 

Presently Joan gave a glad cry and started on a run down 


AND WHO IS LISBETH? 


105 


the long line, for she had sighted them, Jane and Lisbeth 
both, just entering the gates; and meeting them there, up 
the walk they came, Jane ahead, Joan and Lisbeth lagging 
a bit behind. 

Aunt Hetty stared at sight of them. She had advised 
Joan, early morning though it was, to put on a white dress 
and one of the silk sashes she had purchased for her, feeling 
in some indefinable way that it would be a hall-mark of 
distinction to make both Jane and the girl see that though 
they would be treated kindly, Lisbeth was not to be on an 
equal footing with Joan. But here was the girl herself in 
a white frock, patterned like the simple one Joan had worn 
to the cabin, her hair that had then hung down her back in 
braids, plaited smooth and wound about her head as Joan 
did hers! And though Lisbeth’s eyes were black where 
Joan’s were blue, and there was not a similar feature save 
the lustrous tresses, yet the contour of their faces was not 
unlike, and both were of a height, with a slender grace of 
stature. 

The stranger came shyly forward, rather abashed if it had 
not been for Joan’s hearty presentation, and Jane-the- 
Skipper’s glance was sharp to see what Mrs. Wisdom’s wel- 
come would be, a satisfaction settling upon her hard face 
at hearing the kindly greeting and receiving the steaming 
coffee. 

“Can I show her every bit of the house ? We won’t disturb 
a thing!” begged Joan. And at consent the newcomer was 
taken around all the rooms, a walk through the spacious hall 
and parlours, a survey of the sweet scented chambers so red- 
olent of cool retreat, with a longer stay in Joan’s own bed- 
room whose high four-poster and chest of drawers, with the 
chintz covered chairs and ottomans, seemed grand furnish- 
ings to the girl who rolled into her wall-bunk for her night’s 
repose, and had only a sailor’s chest for her own scanty be- 
longings. 

“Then there’s all the next story full of rooms,” said Joan, 


106 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“lower-roofed ones and a garret above that; and tbe garden, 

and the spring O, my, there’s the brook too ! Why it’ll 

he night before we get half through, Lisheth !” 

And just then Aunt Hetty summoned them downstairs, 
where out upon the greensward by the kitchen door sat 
two big hogshead-tubs of soapy water, containing the blankets, 
which the girls were to “tread!” 

O, how funny it seemed to Joan who had never heard 
before of such a process, but not to the washerwoman’s girl, 
for she and Jane had often washed them thus, to save elbow 
grease and muscle, as well as to preserve the soft texture of 
the home woven wools. Off went their shoes and stockings, 
a tuck up of the white frocks, a dip of feet into a separate 
tub for cleanliness, a run over the green grass, and then into 
the warm soapy water so soft and slippery — trampling and 
treading the contents, jumping out upon the sward again 
while Jane poked and prodded and turned over the mass, in 
once more, and out, till finally the last rinsings were accom- 
plished and the blankets squeezed and shaken were ready to 
spread out to the breeze and the sun that had so neighbourly 
proffered their help. 

The girls were free. But the pink and white wrinkled feet 
that hopped out from the last rinsing had given them an 
idea. 

“It’s like that other day, isn’t it?” asked Lisbeth, “when 
we waded in the river !” 

“And thereupon Joan clapped her hands. “Why couldn’t 
we go really wading again, now, down in our brook?” So 
Aunt Hetty was besought for permission, with a lunch as 
well, that they might have their dinner together by the brook 
side. 

It proved a stroke of great good fortune for Aunt Hetty, 
who had been turning over in her mind with much concern 
just how she should manage the dinner, whether dining room 
or kitchen for Lisbeth, who seemed to Joan at least, a guest 


AHD WHO IS LISBETH? 


107 


rather than a worker at Halfway. Dinner at the brook was 
surely a solution, so consent was readily given. 

“Get some fresh water up,” said she. “And this is Tree 
Press’ day, so you’ll need to go to the office in the afternoon 
if Pelig is not free. Lisbeth can walk on with you there in- 
stead of waiting to go the long way round later with Jane.” 

“O, how good you are to let us go!” cried Joan out of the 
fulness of her young heart, and she wished she might dare 
to give Aunt Hetty a hug and a kiss for it, but kisses and 
hugs were forgotten or omitted joys, in the Halfway life. 
For since the pains in his joints had afflicted Uncle Gar- 
ret, he had shut up within his heart all thought of love ex- 
pressed, letting his calamity be a wilderness within which 
not only himself must wander, but all who journeyed on 
life’s pathway with him; the caress of word or touch that 
might have been as fallen manna or gushing stream to make 
glad the solitary places, unuttered and unproffered. So 
Aunt Hetty thus forced to get out of the way of expressed 
affection, had never bestowed upon Joan even a kiss. Often 
in the evenings when they talked a little while sometimes be- 
fore going up to bed, Joan would feel almost sure enough 
of her to offer one with her good-night, but suddenly the little 
aunt would slip away out of approach, into her patchwork, 
and her enforced reticence, and Joan would not dare try it. 
Yet it seemed to her that she would just have to find some 
one to love, so wakened was she in this budding year of 
womanhood, so filled with joy at having a real place to stay, 
after all her lonely sojoumings; for even though the uncle 
and aunt were stern and cold of manner it was beginning 
to be now like a true home, and she had never realised it 
as fully as to-day when showing Lisbeth around it. 

Well, if the uncle and aunt were loth to love, here was Lis- 
beth, whom she could pet to her heart’s content ! And the two 
girls walked down the path to the spring with arms inter- 
locked, slowly, because Lisbeth’s limp made the stepping un- 


108 JOAN" AT HALFWAY 

even, though Joan was quick to accommodate her own to its 
halting. 

“We haven’t got a lovely river at Halfway, like you have,” 
said Joan when they came to the spring, its brimming water 
overflowing the stone walls that cupped its depths. “But this 
is lovely in another way, and sometimes when I’m awfully 
still I think I can hear it coming up from where it starts, 
though there isn’t even a single bubble moving on it.” 

“Do you know where it does come from ?” asked Lisbeth. 
“Could it drain way back from our river?” 

“Dear knows, I don’t. Uncle Garret says it’s always been 
here — like the Wisdom roses I suppose, though Aunt Hetty 
says it was the bride, that brought them to Halfway, riding 
on a black horse behind her husband — O, Lisbeth, can’t you 
see her? I think about her nights after I go to bed, and 
wouldn’t I just like to be a bride, riding on a black horse! 
The roses are coming in bud now, and Phoebe says Uncle 
Garret is always better natured when they are blooming and 
that we keep big bunches of them around the rooms. I’ve 
never picked a rose in all my life, and I’m just dying to 
pick some of our own here, the Wisdom kind. Do you 
have them at your house?” 

“No roses, nor anything else could grow in our rocky 
yard. We even had to have holes drilled to put the clothes 
poles in ” 

“Why of course you wouldn’t have them, anyway,” in- 
terrupted Joan. “How queer it is. I keep thinking you 
are one of the family. I don’t suppose you even know the 
story ; Aunt Hetty and Phoebe both told me, and I’ll tell it 

to you now And so that’s why all the Wisdoms love it,” 

she added at the story’s close. 

“But they couldn’t have brought the spring with them 
too,” laughed Lisbeth. “It must have been here always, as 
your uncle says, like our river. But what is that hole in 
the side for ?” 

“It leads into a pipe that goes down to the house, and we 


AJSTD WHO IS LISBETH? 


109 


get all our water from it, except what we catch in a tank for 
washing, and things like that. Even what comes to the 
house is lovely and cool, hut Uncle Garret won’t drink it, 
so we have to get it fresh from here for him three or four 
times every day, and just at bedtime again. I don’t blame 
him either, for O, it does taste great straight out of where 
it comes from. I never saw anybody drink as much as he 
does, though, and I’m getting to be so thirsty for it myself 
that I often run up here with a dipper to get it cool, and 
doesn’t it feel good going down my throat! Are you the 
thirsty-kind too ? Aunt Hetty says all the family are.” 

“I’m a thirsty-kind all right,” answered Lisheth, “but 
you’re forgetting again, I’m not one of your family. Jane 
says it’s a bad habit to drink so much and that the more 
you do the more you want to, and she doesn’t like to see 
me ‘at it again,’ that’s what she calls it. But it’s queer 
too, she puts a cupful on the chest every night, after I’ve 
gone to bed, where I could reach out and get it if I wanted 
it. I hardly ever do, but it’s lovely to just know it’s there 
if I should. She only does it lately, and never wants me 
to talk about it, but it’s always there when I wake. There’s 
another hole, Joan, and a place that looks like where a hole 
was stoned up again.” 

Joan looked down close into the sparkling depths. “What 
sharp eyes you have, Lisbeth. I never noticed that plugged 
up one before — the other must go to the barns and down to 
where the family live who do most of the farm work. At 
that old ugly School where I was before I came here, they 
were laying pipes a long way, and we girls had to help dig 
and lay them, so I know about how it’s done — but my, we’d 
better hurry back or we’ll have no time left for the picnic !” 
And back to the house they hastened, straight up the side 
steps to Uncle Garret’s rooms and within the door before 
Joan had thought at all what she was doing or remembered 
Aunt Hetty’s enjoining. 

The old man was sitting at his desk, back to the outer 


110 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


door. Hearing the footsteps he turned his head as they en- 
tered. The hunch of papers he was just clasping with a 
hand fell a-flutter to the floor. Joan hurried forward to 
pick them up, hut he stayed her hand. “Let them be,” said 
he. “Who have you here?” 

“It’s Lisbeth,” said Joan, filled with consternation at the 
plight she had brought upon herself. 

“And who is Lisbeth ?” 

“She lives with Jane, in the cabin, you know, and she’s 
here with her to-day washing the blankets and quilts.” 

Ah! That was where he had seen her before, several 
years ago when he had gone to bargain with Jane for the 

Corner lot The startled strained look that had swept 

up over his face at sight of them, passed away. “If she is 
here to wash, why is she not at work ?” asked he coldly. 

Joan scented danger ahead, perhaps even a cancelling of 
their picnic together, probably sharp words for Lisbeth her- 
self. It must be averted, if possible. 

“We have both been helping,” said she; “Lisbeth stopped 
to go with me for the water.” 

“Well, let her go to work again. I expected to need you 
here this afternoon, but some men are coming shortly, 
and I have their business to transact. Pick up the papers, 
put them in the lower left hand drawer ; fill up my jug, and 
send your Aunt Hetty to me. Also do not fail to get off 
early for the mail,” said he, paying no attention whatever to 
Lisbeth who still stood just inside the doorway, her eyes 
feasting with a strange content that she could not have ex- 
pressed and scarce herself understood, upon the fine old 
room ; its brown beamed ceiling ; its row of windows toward 
the west, their upper sashes cathedral-paned and Gothic 
arched ; the great fire-place that stretched across the farther 
end, its brick rich-tinted with Time and the fires of succes- 
sive generations; resting at last with calm scrutiny upon 
the old man as he gave to Joan his final orders. 

When Joan joined her she was last to leave the room, turn- 


AND WHO IS LISBETH? 


Ill 


ing on the threshold for another look, as if loth to leave it. 
And the master of Halfway swinging around sharp on his 
swivel chair to watch them as they departed, met the full 
glance of her soft shadowy eyes, not wistful, appealing, and 
fearless, as were Joan’s, by turn, but calm and compelling, 
as she inclined her head with a little quick bob of salutation 
in departure. 

He did not return it, yet he followed them with his gaze 
all down the walk till they turned at the garden gate, and a 
scowl settled upon his face to see them walking thus, arms 
about each other’s waist. A workhouse chit, here at Half- 
way, apparently on equal terms with Joan — pretty faced, 
but probably a bold girl if brought up by that woman — she 

must not be allowed again at Halfway He would see to 

it at once. And that was what Aunt Hetty’s summons meant, 
but her kindly Fortune intervened just as she reached the 
rooms, in the person of the men upon business intent, so 
Aunt Hetty got off scot-free, for that time at least, and she 
hurried the two girls away as quickly as possible, for Joan 
had confessed her mistake in taking Lisbeth inside, and 
Uncle Garret’s treatment of her. 

“She’ll not likely be let to set foot here again, so run 
off and have your day together,” said the little aunt. “Here 
is your basket. Be sure to be back in time with the mail, 
and if the girl is too tired to walk on home she can rest at 
Dempsey’s Corner where Pelig will pick her up when he 
takes Jane back, if she’ll be taken.” 

And they were away! across the soft turfed, hummocky 
pasture lands, to the brook where the other Joan Wisdoms 
had waded and played in the years agone. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE ROAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 

N OW, isn’t it the dearest little brook?” asked Joan 
when she had set forth its glories of waterfall and 
pebbly pool, and the two sat eating their lunch in the shade 
of the tall elm on whose branches the bobolinks tilted at morn 
and eve, trilling their liquid notes. “I always feel just like 
a little bit of a girl when I’m down here, but your river is 
so still, and big, it must make you feel grown up and solemn. 
This one is so funny and noisy, and always in such a hurry 
as if it had a lot to do, and all it ever carries is leaves ; but I 
suppose a brook isn’t grown up and so it doesn’t have to 
work hard like a river does.” 

“J ane says the folks who make the most noise about it do 
the least, and so we hardly ever talk much when we’re wash- 
ing there, though I’d often like to, for when I’m out- 
doors I feel all alive and awake, someway, so different from 
when I’m in the house. Will we wade right in here when 
we get through our lunch? It was way up by the creek 
where we went in that other time, nearer Mrs. Debbie’s 
house. I walked over to the place that next day after you 
came down, and it seemed so queer to be getting it out of 
my mind so far back. It all came clear after a while, but I 
can’t remember as quick as you do. Is it a Wisdom fashion 
to have a good memory, like you said your Aunt Hetty called 
being so Thirsty’ was ?” 

“I guess it must be,” said Joan, “for Uncle Garret scolded 
me awfully, once, for saying I forgot something, and he re- 
members everything himself, the page of the book where I 
leave off reading to him, and sometimes even the last words. 

112 


THE EOAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 


113 


And down at the office the Postmaster said all the Wisdoms 
could remember everything they ever did. He called it a 
‘gift/ and said that everybody had some special thing given 
them when they were born, that they could do better than 
they could do the things they were only taught to do, and that 
we have to use that to get on in the world with, and give an 
account of it when we get to Heaven. It’s a nice idea, and I 
like the Postmaster. It seems queer though, to call him 
Cousin Alexander when he’s so big and tall.” 

“Jane says he’s the best man in the whole country, but I’ve 
only seen him a few times. I haven’t been allowed around 
much, and if you only knew, Joan, how wonderful it is to 
be a whole day away, like this, and with you, and at Half- 
way that I didn’t ever expect to get inside of! I’m half 
afraid it’s only one of those fine things I make up, and not 
truly real after all.” 

“It’s just as true as true,” answered Joan, “and when 
you’re not real sure about things, then you always ought to 
give yourself a pinch, like this,” administering a sly, sharp 
one to Lisbeth’s arm. “My, why you haven’t got much on 

your arm to pinch but clear bone You aren’t sick, are 

you ? Is it your knee that keeps you so thin, Lisbeth ? Does 
it hurt any to-day ? You haven’t got your crutch at all. Tell 
me true.” 

“It doesn’t hurt one bit, but what makes you want to 
know ? Did you think I couldn’t go wading ?” 

Joan shook her head. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because 
we aren’t going wading after all, but down that dear little 
crooked road that I told you about, if you think it won’t tire 
you. Wouldn’t you love to see where it goes to ? I’ll tell you 
what makes me want to get onto it. I’ve kept it back all day 
till we got off by ourselves, and I want you to think real hard 
and see if you can help me. Don’t you remember that day 
you were up to Mrs. Betty’s and we played in the river, that 
we went somewhere else, with a basket, to get something 
for Mrs. Betty, to such a nice house, and we had dinner 


114 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

there in a room that you went down steps to, like at your 
place, Lisbeth?” 

“I can’t seem to remember,” said Lisbeth. 

“Well, keep running it over in your mind hard as you can 
and see if it won’t shake out. That’s what I did, ever since I 
first went by that road the day I came here — only the very 
tiniest bit to begin with, as if I had been on it, and had some- 
one by the hand. But it’s been coming and coming bit by bit, 
and now I do really believe it was down that road we went 
that day with a basket. So let’s go over it again, and see if 
we can really find a house at the end! You see we did go 
paddling in the water, though it was a tub instead of a river, 
and if we go on this road now and find it truly was that other 
one, why we’ll be doing exactly the things we did before, and 
won’t it be wonderful ? Will you go ? We can walk slow and 
easy.” 

“Of course we will ! You think of the loveliest things to 
do,” exclaimed Lisbeth. “And if we really found a house 
there, would we go in it ?” 

“That’s what I’m going to decide if we truly find it, for 
there’s something else goes with us being there that I’m not 
just sure about yet, but I think if we can find the house that 
it will make all the rest come out plain ” 

“Here’s somebody coming up the path,” interrupted Lis- 
beth. 

“O, it’s Phoebe!” said Joan rather concernedly. “Aunt 
Hetty said she was sure Phoebe would smell the washing 
and come up before they got through.” 

“Didn’t she want her to come ?” 

“She said Phoebe would want to step right in and boss 
the job, for she thinks she owns Halfway and all that goes 
on there ; and that there would be trouble if she did.” 

The other nodded in confirmation, “I know, she and Jane 
don’t seem to like each other much, and Jane would leave 
right off in the middle if Phoebe took a hand in it. Phoebe 
is good, though. She came and took care of me once when 


THE KOAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 


115 


I had the shingles. Jane was sick too, and she was so good 
to us and wouldn’t ever let us pay her anything. Jane says 
she is kind inside hut prickly and three-cornered like a beech 
nut and hard to get at the meat.” 

“Phoebe approached slowly, apparently not aware of their 
presence, shaded as they were beneath the elm trees droop- 
ing green. 

“'Shingles is a queer sickness to have,” said Joan. “I never 
heard of it before.” 

“ ‘Shingles and rickets,’ that’s what she called it. We 
didn’t know what it was ourselves till she came. It’s not 
nice to have, but Phoebe said it either killed or cured you, 
and she took such fine care of me that I didn’t die — and I 
guess she was right about it curing me, for I never had any 
colour in my face till after that, and all the ugly freckles 
went away, and my hair grew so long and ” 

Here Phoebe sighted them, and crossing the brook with 
sure steps, stood confronting them where they sat, looking 
from one to the other with questioning glance. But Phoebe 
was never long in doubt “Umph,” said she. “Two of a 
feather, all right.” 

“This is Lisbeth,” explained Joan, prettily doing the hon- 
ours for her guest. 

Phoebe sniffed — “You’re rather a new-comer to be mak- 
ing introductions to me who have lived here all my life.” 
But in spite of the sharp words her face softened at survey 
of the two fresh sweet faces under the greening shade, and 
she turned to the strange girL “You and I have sat some 
hard nights out. What a spindly little mite you were, 
scrawny enough to knuckle under, but I’m glad to see you 
pulled through so well. I told you it would kill or cure.” 

The prickles were evidently not as sharp as usual, and 
Joan was relieved. 

“I was telling her about how you took care of me,” said 
Lisbeth. “It was awfully good of you to do it.” 

“Never mind that now How did you get up here?” 


116 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“We’re up at Halfway to-day, washing, Jane and I ” 

Phoebe smiled facetiously. “ J ane and I,” she mimicked. 

“Evidently you’re not a working partner on the job. I 
knew Jane was there so I thought I’d call up and find out 
the latest way of washing woollens,” said she grimly. “Every 
Halfway blanket is handwoven, and soft as down, one poor 
washing will ruin them. When I saw you two sitting here 
I thought I must be seeing double. You’re like peas of 
the same pod.” 

“O, Phoebe, do you really mean we look alike?” cried 
Joan with joy. “I’d love for us to, but I haven’t got lovely 
pink cheeks like Lisbeth has. Do we really?” 

“You do and you don’t,” said Phoebe, in such exact imi- 
tation of Aunt Hetty’s tentative noncommittal speech that 
Joan began to laugh before she thought what she was doing, 
suppressing it with a quick tightening of lips that did not 
escape the shrewd eyes. “Don’t be afraid of a good honest 
laugh outside, it’s better than a smirky hidden one inside and 
as for looking alike, I don’t see why you wouldn’t. You’ve 
both got hands and feet, and a white frock apiece. Jane must 
be getting on in business to fix you up like you’re rigged 
to-day.” This last shot to Lisbeth who had risen and 
was reaching up now with one hand and now the other, pull- 
ing down the interlacing boughs that hung like a festooned 
tent around the great elm, a slender agile grace about her 
movements that made her seem a part of the greenwood scene. 
Phoebe surveyed her for a full minute without speech. “What 
you needed was good clothes, to bring you out,” said she. 
“A pink sash to match your cheeks, and one would think 
you belonged to Halfway instead of where you do — but 
don’t get proud on account of good clothes. Usually we get 
along in the world better with good ones, but after all, they’re 
just a covering for our nakedness !” and Phoebe was gone. 

“0, goody good!” exclaimed Joan. “She never asked us 
what we were doing or where we were going, and I was so 


THE ROAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 117 

afraid she would. You don’t mind what she said, Lisbeth? 
It’s just Phoebe’s manner, I guess.” 

“One of those prickly corners! No, I don’t mind, for 
of course it’s true, and I am only what I am, even if I do 
have a new dress on. Let’s hurry away. Why were you 
afraid she’d ask us where we were going? Is it anything 
wrong to do ?” 

“I don’t see how it could he, for nobody told us not to. 
But it’s nice to do it without everybody knowing, so there’ll 
be a mystery about it; don’t you love a mystery? We’ll take 
the basket and go hand in hand just like we did that other 
time. O, my but it’s great to have a girl to be with again !” 

Starting away they were soon across the pasture, up and 
over and down the hard-wood hill, across the stile, along the 
highway, and presently their little road came to view, sylvan 
and sweet and winding, far as eye could reach. 

“Hu-s-hh-sh !” commanded Joan upon its threshold, fingers 
to her lips — “let’s pretend it’s enchanted, and tip-toe in, 
and not speak till we’ve counted a hundred, then make a wish 
— I know what I’ll wish — hu-s-sh !” 

So, light and stealthily they entered its portal and stepped 
along the green delicious mystery of the grassy way. How 
soft and cool the old turf was to their young feet, how 
sheltering the great arch of pines that stretched overhead, 
how fragrant the odorous balm of cone and needle that made 
brown the roadside bed. Like wood nymphs they trod it, 
their fresh faces raised to hear the tree-tops’ tune, their blue 
and black eyes peering ahead to catch the glimpses beyond 
the curves and turns. 

“One hundred, and my wish!” said Joan. “I made a 
beautiful one. Did you?” And soon the music of their 
girlish voices broke the hushed green silence. 

“I’m trying to see if I can get my mind back to that other 
day,” she said, “and I know now that I’ve always remem- 
bered this, but didn’t know it was real. At that School there 
weren’t any trees around the place, and at nights I used to 


118 


JOAH AT HALFWAY 


think of a lovely winding road with trees growing up a steep 
hill on each side of it, exactly like these do, and I used to put 
myself asleep going up and up it with them. I got to just 
love it, hut thought I had only imagined it, and all the time it 
was a real place I We’ll come again some day after we’ve 
found out where it ends, and climb the hill, with the trees. I 
bet you I’ll beat them out!” 

“I’m beginning to remember about it now, too,” said Lis- 
beth, “we didn’t walk back, because somebody was sick 
and a waggon came after us quick. It’s so queer to be doing 
it all over again.” 

“It isn’t a bit queerer than lots of things we do every day 
of our lives, only we get used to them, that’s all the difference. 
I think out so many things, nights, that they don’t really seem 
queer when they do happen. They’re not all going to come true 
like this has, of course, but some of them are, because I’m 
going to make them, Lisbeth. Down inside me I feel so 
strong and tough, as if I could do such hard things and big 
things, and I wonder how I’ll ever get at them. Do you ?” 

“Hot very much, because always I’m so tired when I get 
to bed that I go straight asleep, and the only four things 
I imagine over and over, are lovely woods like this, for I 
hate houses and being shut up in them, unless it would be 
Halfway, perhaps. That’s why we wash in the river. I 
coaxed Jane till she let us, and now she likes it too, and she 
says she hates a roof over her head always, and wonders why 
she never thought of that way to get out from under one. The 
three other things are that I’ll not be lame ; and that I’ll know 

about my father and mother some day and ” here Lisheth 

paused a moment and looked away from her companion; 
“the last one is that I’d like to have a lovely rainbow silk 
sash with fringe, like I saw a girl from town have, tied in big 
bow and streamers. It just made a pain like a knife in my 
heart when I saw it and knew that I couldn’t ever have one 
myself. It doesn’t go in with my life, just as Phoebe said, and 
not having one on is what shows that I don’t really belong 


THE KOAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 


119 


to your kind of folks and Halfway. Your blue one is 
lovely, Joan, and you know what I mean, don’t you?' I don’t 
mind a bit, your having it, because you’re so nice and good, 
but that other girl was proud and hateful, and it doesn’t seem 
right that just because I’m so poor I have to go without such 

a beautiful thing as a rainbow sash And so you see the 

things I think about and want aren’t very apt to come out 
true.” 

“You’ve got to make them come!” said Joan. “You 
imagined the woods, and being outdoors, and you made that 
come true, yourself, by going outside instead of staying in 
all sudsy and hot. So you’ll have to think up a way to get 
the other things too. Keep saying to yourself you will, and in 
some way, I don’t know how, but you’ll do it all right. Ask 
Jane to find out about your mother and father. And I’ll 
help about your knee, because Uncle Garret has a Doctor 
come to see him sometimes, and we could ask him how to cure 
it. I have never known my father or mother, either, Lisbeth, 
so you see we’re alike in that.” 

“I’ve asked Jane about mine, and if I had any real re- 
lations in the world, and she says what’s the need of trying 
to find out, that you can’t keep off the thing that’s coming 
to you, nor turn back the one that’s hurrying away, and if 
I have any real folks of my own that we’ll find each other 
out if it’s to he.” 

The small sweet face of Joan grew sober and firm with 
some hidden force. “I’m not going to wait for my things to 
come,” said she, “I’m going to reach out and bring them to 
me, and maybe reach out and keep them from going away, 
too. There’s such a lot of something in me, strong, that wants 
to be doing something hard and big, like I told you before. I 
don’t see what chance I’ll ever have at it living here, but O, I 
do love being here, and it’s so beautiful to have a real home 
for the first time in all my life. Lisbeth, you look away 
on the other side of the road till I tell you to turn. I want 
to do something you can’t see. Will you?” 


120 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


But Lisbeth’s eyes would not stay away, for she had caught 
a flash of blue and heard a tug of breath, and turning about 
she found Joan with her silken sash freed from her waist, 
folding it in an even roll. 

“What ever are you doing?” she asked. “I couldn’t help 
seeing.” 

“I don’t care, now it’s off and done,” said Joan with sat- 
isfaction, tucking the blue roll down in her pocket. “I’d 
have scrunched it up quick and had it out of sight before 
you could have seen at all, but it wouldn’t have been fit to 
wear that way, and I’ll have to put it on again before I get 
back to Halfway.” 

“But what did you take it off for, anyway? Joan — you 

didn’t think I minded ” and the soft black eyes so full of 

yearning sudden o’erbrimmed with tears. 

Joan smiled, the little crooked bravado smile that was 
so close to her own tears, and she battled them off. “It 
isn’t anything to do. We’ll just be really alike now, to-day, 
that’s all. It only just happens that I had one, anyway. I 
wasn’t born with one on any more than you were !” 

The other caught the spirit and rose above the tears as 
Joan had. “According to Jane I’ll get mine if it’s coming 
to me, and according to you I’ve got to get it myself, so it’s 
all right anyhow, and you’re so beautiful, Joan, to do it. 
But do look, the woods is getting thin, and I can see a field ; 
we must be coming out to something. If it’s a house, will 
we go in ?” 

“Let’s stop a minute and make up our minds.” 

“We’ll have to turn ‘ wiihershins’ then for good luck.” 

“What’s that ? It’s a funny sounding word.” 

“It’s what Jane always makes us do when we can’t de- 
cide things. You turn from west to east, like the sun and the 
moon and the stars go, she says, and you’ll make your mind 
up lucky — this way — ” and Lisbeth seizing Joan by the 
hand began a pirouette upon the grassy way. 

“0, dear,” panted Joan, out of breath. “It’s almost as 


THE ROAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 


121 


if it was going to be really an enchanted castle at the end 
of onr lovely road! I’ve made up my mind already, but 
I’ll have to tell you why. I’ve kept it back till now, be- 
cause it isn’t out quite plain even yet. When we came 
here before, the one they call Polly Ann who brought me 
down here, gave me a letter to take to somebody at the house 
we were going to with the basket; and don’t you remember 
there was an awful queer table that we had dinner on, that 
when the woman cleared it off she made into a chair, and let 
us roll it back against the wall. Did you ever hear of a 
table like that, around here anywhere V 9 

Lisbeth nodded. “Jane says it’s the only kind we could 
ever have in the cabin, because there’s so little room there. 
We eat on a shelf that lets down and up. And I knew 
I’d seen one somewhere, when she told me about one there 
is at the Island — and I thought it must have been at the 
Poor-farm, for you see I hardly ever go out where Jane 
does. But all the time it must have been this very place 
down here, if there really is a place when we get there.” 

“The Island !” Joan was turning over quick in her mind 
whether she should say anything to Lisbeth about it, or not. 
If she began at all she must needs tell the whole story, that 
she was forbidden to go there even though the people living 
on it were her very own relations, as much as Uncle Gar- 
ret himself was. And it would hardly be right, perhaps, 
to talk about things that only belonged to Halfway doings. So 
by the time Lisbeth had stopped speaking, J oan’s little clever 
ready mind was made up. She would not notice the refer- 
ence to the Island at all, but go on with her story. 

“Of course there’s going to be the place, Lisbeth, for I’m 
remembering it all just as plain as plain can be, and I can tell 
you now what I did with that letter. Don’t you know the 
cunning drawers there were underneath the chair part of that 
table to keep the knives and spoons and things, and one of 
them was a teenty narrow one that wouldn’t open for us and 
we thought it might be a hiding-place and full of gold? 


122 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Well, when whoever it was came to take ns away I went hack 
to see if I couldn’t get it open myself, and I thought the let- 
ter would help pry it, and it slipped in out of sight instead, 
and I had to go so quick I forgot to tell the woman who 
was there ; and when I got back to Mrs. Debbie’s, Polly Ann 
was sick and we started right off for way out West again. 
And I guess I must have forgotten all about it, till after 
she died, because I can remember now being sorry I hadn’t 
told her. But then it must have got all covered up with the 
other things that happened in my life for I never thought 
of it again, ever, till I saw this road, when I came by in the 
coach. And it was just little specks at first, though I’ve tried 
and tried to get it out plain, till we got started here to-day, 
when it just shook itself out all the while we’ve been coming, 
and it’s so plain now, Lisbeth, that I know there’s going to be 
a house at the end, and I do believe I could find that table 
with my eyes shut.” 

“But it mighten’t be there yet, and the letter would have 
likely been cleared out long ago, whenever they’d clean the 
table. Do you suppose it made any difference to anybody, it 
getting lost that way ? Do you know who it was for ?” 

“I don’t know another thing but that I’ve told you. Lis- 
beth, do you see ! we’re coming to the house around the very 
next turn. I caught a peek of the roof through the trees, 
but it seems quite a long way off yet, across some fields. 
Quick, let’s see it exactly together,” and she reached out her 
hand for Lisbeth’s slender white one, holding it in tight 
clasp as they rounded the last curve and came out upon a 
broad stretch of open meadow, in the very centre of which, 
on a somewhat elevated portion, stood a low spreading house. 

“I told you so!” cried Joan delightedly. “We’ll ask for 
a drink of water, or if they have a garden we can ask for 
some flowers, and maybe it will be somebody who’ll know 
me, anyway, by my looks. That’s the very first thing every- 
body around here says, that I look exactly like the Wis- 
doms — I don’t see how I could look an j other way if I’m ‘a 


THE ROAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 


123 


Wisdom clear through/ as Cousin Alexander says. Are you 
tired, Lisbeth ? We could rest.” 

“Not a hit, because I’m excited, and that keeps off the tired 
feeling. We have to leave the road just ahead, Joan, for it 
turns down into a lane, and O, I see, there’s a brook, or some 
kind of water we’ve got to cross, and where’s the bridge 
over it? O, Joan,” as they turned another bend and came 
to a nearer view of the house set in its sea of green — “It’s 
the Island!” 

“The Island?” said Joan incredulously, “how could it be 
an island when it’s all land!” and then a phrase of Uncle 
Garret’s stilted speech came to her recollection — “In this 
case it is a piece of land higher than its surrounding meadow ” 
— the place she had been forbidden to visit! forbidden to 
even ask about ! The Island ! Her cheeks turned pallid with 
the sudden intense emotion of the thought, and its problems 
involved. 

“There always was a bridge over it, it’s a part of the 
creek, but isn’t very deep,” said Lisbeth, in the interest of 
the adventure not noticing the other’s concern. “I heard 
Jane telling about it, but your uncle had the bridge taken 
away because the people here wouldn’t sell him some land 
he wanted to buy, like he wanted to buy ours and Jane 
wouldn’t let him have it. So they only can have some 
planks across the creek and he has them taken away too, 
and they have to keep putting down new ones. Isn’t it funny, 
Joan, for grown up people to be cross like that, but I can’t 
say much, because Jane gets that way too, often, and doesn’t 
like the folks around here, except the Postmaster and his 
wife, and these people who live at the Island. She calls 
the woman the Queen of Sheba, and she does look like a 
queen too.” 

“Why, were you ever here before ? You didn’t know you 
were coming to it, did you?” Joan was fencing, while her 
mind was trying to work out her problem. 

“It was quite a time ago, and I wasn’t really inside the 


12 4 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


house. We had been down to the mines for a week, work- 
ing at the manager’s, and they were driving us home and we 
stopped here for something. But we were not on this road, 
it’s another, a long way around one, that comes up from the 
mines. They have to go all that way round now, Jane says, 
for a horse and waggon can’t get across just two planks. It 
must he hard, for they are old folks, a man and a woman — 
and J ane says they are the salt of the earth, and have a flower- 
garden that you’d think was the Garden of Eden — all in 
front of the house. So we can ask for a drink and a flower 
both, just as you planned. We’re going, aren’t we?” 

Joan’s eyes were shining, steely blue and yearning, by 
turn, the steely glint for the harsh old uncle who had torn 
up the bridge, the yearning for the two in the spreading 
house in the midst of its emerald sea — the Queen of Sheba 
who must be Aunt Orin, and the brother who must be Uncle 
Amsey, her very own people, exactly as much as Halfway 
and Uncle Garret were hers! Was she going to see them! 
Indeed she was ! 

“Of course I am,” she said, “and you mustn’t ask me any 
questions about it, but I’ll tell you this much. We’re not very 
good friends, the Halfway folks and the Island folks. I don’t 
understand about it myself, but the Island people are the very 
same relation to me that the others are, and I’ve never been 
to see them yet, so I’m going to-day, Lisbeth.” 

It was settled. And on they went, coming presently to 
the narrow footbridge that spanned the banks of the creek 
which almost circled the meadows surrounding the Island 
house, branching off at a thick copse of wood to join the 
larger stream called the river. 

“It’s tickly-bender,” pronounced Joan, going ahead to try 
the planks, “and you’ll have to step careful as careful can 
be. It isn’t wide enough for two together or I’d hold your 
hand. But it’s not such very deep water even if we did fall 
in,” peering down to the creek beneath. “I’m going to ask 


THE ROAD TO MEADOW ISLAND 125 

Pelig to come down this very day and put some more boards 
across.” 

“But he couldn’t if he is Mr. Wisdom’s hired man, for 
he’d tell him not to, and you don’t do things that people 
who are over you tell you not to,” said Lisheth, steadying 
each step as she made her way over the suspended planks. 

Her companion heard, hut did not let it hurt nor deter, 
for her young heart was hot with the indignation and the 
yearning that had o’erwhelmed to her blue eyes. And safely 
across, the two entered the picket gate and approached the 
house. 


CHAPTER XII 


it must be philip’s grandchild 

T HE old Island house with its broad stone steps faced 
fair the garden plot which blossomed across all its 
front, a fairy space where ragged-robin and heliotrope, pinks 
and peonies, roses and sweetoocket tossed their gay heads 
with langourous scents. Ho day through all the summer 
long but some fresh bloom met the loving glance of the old 
eyes that watched for them along the bordered walks, no 
night but their sweet breath crept inside the house through 
the open casements, laden with the rich fragrance that 
night alone brings forth. 

The wide door, its casing set round about with mullioned 
panes, swung fully open this warm afternoon into the main 
apartment, a hall-like sitting room which extended clear across 
the house, with fire-place at the farther end, and low windows 
upon either side. At one of the windows sat an old man, 
whittling out a button from a piece of white-wood, a news- 
paper spread upon the floor beside him to catch the shavings. 
Around his neck was knotted a black silk kerchief, a black 
and purple cardigan jacket served for coat, and he was hum- 
ming as he whittled, a chanty song of the halyards, that had 
someway strayed up among the green meadows, like Captain 
Hat upon his high hill, away from the thrash and roar of the 
sea and its surf. 

“A smart little packet lay out on the "bay, 

To me way hay , 0 — hio 

A-waiting for a fair wind to get under way 

A long , long , time — ago — 0” 

126 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GRANDCHILD 127 


At the other window, in a highbacked splint chair, her 
feet raised from the floor upon its wide foot-rest, sat a 
woman reading. On the little stand pulled close beside her 
was her work-basket, a pile of small volumes, and her opened 
writing desk. Her high forehead was white and unlined, a 
strange contrast to the seamed and wrinkled face below it; 
the white brow, like Garret Wisdom’s, seeming like a marble 
temple for the clear blue eyes that dwelt therein ; young fresh 
eyes, hers were, like a child’s, unclouded in vision, hut 
mystic too, as if they had seen long sights, as indeed they 
had, for Orin Wisdom had passed the fourscore years of 
life. And though another, transcendent and eternal stretched 
before her, close at hand, she was going forth toward it, 
as assured and unafraid. 

For half a century she had taught a select school for 
girls and hoys, in a distant town, relinquishing it only when 
she had reached the three score and ten, always accepting her 
“gift” to do it as from on High. And though school was long 
let out for Orin Wisdom, she was still the teacher personi- 
fied; where’er she sat the lamp of knowledge burned. The 
Queen of Sheba, Jane had termed her, and aptly too; her 
sceptre and orb were the ferule and rule of scholastic author- 
ity, the royal garments of splendour her personality and her 
atmosphere. Invisible they were to actual sight but the hired 
boy who might falter and equivocate to Amsey as to stolen 
hen’s nests and rifled strawberry bed, told a straight tale to 
Orin ; the tin peddlar who watched his chance to get off a dull 
and spotted pan upon the womenfolk with whom he traded, 
and who tipped with sly and bulky hand to make the scales 
run light in the butter and rags he took in exchange, held his 
scale aloft and clear, when he dealt with the Island mis- 
tress, picking out for her his shiniest tins ; and never a man 
in all her walks had passed her with pipe between his lips, 
but held decorously or shamefacedly in hand till she had 
swept him by, the “awe and majesty” of her bearing evok- 
ing without ever needing to demand. 


128 


JO AH AT HALFWAY 


Only her brother Amsey she did not dominate. Him she 
loved, petted, and humoured, at her woman’s will. He was 
brother, sister, husband and child, in one, for they two were 
now, so far as they knew, the only ones left of the Island 
Wisdoms, the handsome scapegrace brother Philip being 
long agone from them and from life itself. What had taken 
her thoughts hack that day to his young gay youth ? Why, 
as she now and then met the glance of the old brother across 
the hearth did she see beside him Phil’s dark handsome face ! 
What had brought to her ear the sound of his voice, that 
musical voice with a cadence in its tone and an upward lilt 
to his phrasing ? What had seemed to fill the very room with 
his presence, when he had never set foot within it for fifty 
years and more? So strange and strong the feeling that 
she had dropped her tatting, and taken a hook to read, to 
change her thoughts ! 

Why was it strange! What stranger than that we think 
at all — see one another, hear, or feel ? While he was filling 
all her fancy, down that shady sylvan road was coming his 
grandchild; and while he seemed in the very room itself, 
the grandchild was walking up the scented garden path, and 
stood in the broad old doorway of the Home where he was 
born. 

Orin Wisdom, intent upon her reading, had not heard the 
steps approaching, and looked up only at the gentle rap which 
sounded upon her ear, looked up to see the two figures framed 
in the old portal, Joan foremost, the fearless and the long- 
ing look, both, within the blue eyes that met the older gaze. 

“Who are you?” asked Orin Wisdom in the straightfor- 
ward word of her race. 

And she met the same direct speech in the answer. “I am 
Joan Wisdom.” 

“ J oan Wisdom, ” repeated the woman wonderingly. “I do 
not understand you. Where are you from? How are you 
here ?” 

“I am up at Halfway, and 0, don’t you know ” 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GRANDCHILD 129 

But the old trembling hand rapped with authority upon the 
table. 

“Tell me who you are, and where you came from to Half- 
way.” 

“I came from out West to stay here. Uncle Garret — 
sent for me.” 

" Uncle r 

“ O , yes,” cried Joan, all this while still upon the threshold, 
that authoritative voice like a wall to bar the entrance. “He 
is my great-uncle, they call it, and you are the same down 
here, and I thought, O, I thought you’d he glad to see 
me ” 

All this while the stern clear blue eyes within the room 
still peered deep into the young waiting ones upon the 
threshold, questioning, searching, proving — and then she 
opened wide her arms. 

“It must be Philip’s grandchild !” she cried, “if yon speak 
true — my pet!” And Joan was folded close within them, 
and there would never more be a wall between. 

“My pet, Phil, my pet — ” crooned the old voice, and she 
lifted the girl’s face and looked into it again, searchingly — 
“So like Philip So like them both!” 

“It seems to me it’s my turn,” said the old man, “no- 
body’s introduced us, though.” 

Aunt Orin pushed J oan over toward him. 

“Guess I’ll follow suit and greet you warm as Orin did,” 
he chuckled whimsically. “How’d do, dear? Come here 
and have a good hear hug. If I get up I’ll scatter all the 
whittlings, and be stood up in school.” And he reached 
out both his hands, which Joan was not a bit slow in ac- 
cepting, nor did she oppose his bruin hug, hut sat boldly 
and contentedly down upon his knee while he talked with 
her. “Tell us all about it,” said he. “How did you come, 
and where have you been all your life, and what does it all 
mean? We heard yesterday that there was a girl up at 
Halfway, but Halfway folks and us are ‘out,’ so w r e ask peo 


130 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


pie no questions about tbeir doings. We thought, though, 
that it must be some connection of Hetty’s. And it was 
Phil’s grandchild — Phil’s !” 

And then it came to all three at once that there w r as an- 
other guest at the Island. She still stood in the shadow of 
the doorway, outside, for she had not been asked within, and 
from thence had been a spectator of the meeting, half-envious, 
half-wondering, at the warmth of the welcome, and the sur- 
prise of the old people at Joan’s existence. 

“Who else have we here?” asked Aunt Orin of Joan. 
“Come forward girl.” 

Joan sprang to meet her. “It’s Lisbeth,” she said, “you 
know, don’t you? She lives with Jane at the cabin, and 
she’s at Halfway to-day with her. Aunt Hetty is having 
the blankets all washed and Jane is helping us.” 

Aunt Orin extended a hand in welcome, the courtly 
sceptred hand. And it did not please Joan who had been 
hugged and loved. She thought Lisbeth shrank back at the 
formal tone, and she leaned her head down quick against 
Aunt Orin’s face. “O, love her, too, won’t you ? She’s nice 
and dear, and I brought her here.” 

Aunt Orin was showering largess to-day, no matter how 
she might dole to-morrow — and this was Phil’s grandchild 
who asked it. “We are very glad to see you, Lisbeth,” she said, 
and her other hand went out with its mate and folded Lis- 
beth’s thin white ones in both her own. Then she passed 
her across to Amsey, as she had Joan. 

“I’ll go one better, for this once,” said he, “seeing as 
Orin is here for chaperon,” and he bestowed a friendly kiss 
upon the roses on her cheeks, and a chuck to her chin. 

Joan glowed with joy, and coming over beside her the two 
stood again shoulder to shoulder as they had at Phoebe’s re- 
quest, but with no silk sash for shibboleth. “Do you think 
we look alike ?” she asked. 

“Look alike ! How and why should you look alike ?” said 
Orin Wisdom. 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GB AND CHILD 131 

“O, there’s no reason, but do we? Phoebe said we did, 
and ” 

“Phoebe,” interjected Aunt Orin, “will say anything and 
everything to prove a point she wants to make. “Your hair 
is dressed alike, and you are of the same height, but other- 
wise ” her eyes giving a closer scrutiny of the stranger, 

“and yet you have that oval face — I seem to have seen you 
before somewhere.” 

“I was here once, with Jane,” said Lisbeth, “we stopped 
at the door, and you came out.” 

“That was it. I knew I had seen you. I never forget a 
face,” and she turned to Joan again, but while they spoke, 
every now and then would glance over keenly at Lisbeth who 
sat upon a low chair, somewhat apart from the three who 
were talking so eagerly together about Joan and her past. 

Joan’s tongue was loosed. She was another girl from the 
Halfway Joan. The embraces, the tender expressed affec- 
tion, the evident joy and delight in her existence and her 
presence, had pulled out a stop never before sounded, and 
she hardly knew herself, so excited she felt over the adven- 
ture, so radiant in the new-found kindred and their love. 
Over the little simple bare story of her life she went, more 
full now than when first she came to Uncle Garret’s, for she 
could fill in the gaps with information he and the Post- 
master had supplied, or which she had herself recalled. 
From these new kindred she learned other facts; who 
Polly Ann was, and just why she would feel bound to care 
for Joan Wisdom’s grandchild; who Joan’s father was, a 
branch of the Island kin, now all extinct but herself; re- 
ceiving from them also much knowledge of themselves and 
their life; till finally the annals were up to Halfway and its 
inmates, and to Phoebe the capable. 

“Phoebe is a relation, isn’t she?” asked Joan. 

“You might say she was a hit joined up with us,” said 
Aunt Orin. 

“I refuse to admit it, right here and now and forever,” 


132 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


put in Uncle Amsey fervently. “We’re the ‘half’ branch, 
as the others style us, and Phoebe’s a shoot off the main 
trunk. But I’d rather be the branch we are than the stem 
and gnarled roots of the real stock like Garret is, though he 
wasn’t that set in his ways when we were young, and cronies 
together.” 

“There, there, never mind that now,” said Aunt Or in. 
“Be thankful you don’t have Phoebe to rule you and keep 
house for you as once you had; and let her and Garret go 
their ways.” 

But the mention of housekeeping and Phoebe had brought 
something to Joan’s mind, and she turned to the old uncle. 
“Was Phoebe here, that other time when Lisbeth and I came 

down? It was not you ” with a glance of unconscious 

tribute to the stately aunt who sat upon her high chair as 
if upon a throne, “because I know I have never, never seen 
you before. But when Phoebe came to Halfway that first day, 
I felt as if I had seen her somewhere, and now I know, it 
was here, and she made us biscuits like she made up there, 
all kinds of shapes and sizes — don’t you remember, Lis- 
beth, and we were kind of afraid of her, so I daren’t tell 
her about the letter I lost ?” 

Lisbeth nodded. “She made them for us, too, when I was 
sick. Jane called them variety-cakes and Phoebe wouldn’t 
make any more.” 

“But why didn’t Phoebe tell me she had seen me before, 
and that I had been here? Would she have forgotten, may- 
be?” 

“Not Phoebe !” said Uncle Amsey with unction ; “not she ! 
She never forgets, but she never talks, either, unless she has 
a mind to. She fills up with all the folks’ affairs wherever 
she stays, but never unloads unless she thinks fit — she’s in- 
scrutable as Providence; and that close mouthed, if she 
chooses to be, that you couldn’t get so much as a hair be- 
tween her lips.” 

But Aunt Orin was not intent just then upon either Phoe- 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GRANDCHILD 133 


he’s excellencies or delinquencies. She was wondering what 
Joan meant by the “lost letter.” And she asked her, and 
Joan confessed it all, as she had to Lisbeth, but it was much 
clearer now, being in the very house itself again. 

“Was it any difference, I wonder, because you never got 
it,” she finished, turning to the uncle, to whom the missive 
had been sent. “Or did anybody ever find it? Phoebe per- 
haps would burn it up when she would be cleaning.” 

“I was not back for weeks after that. It was the sum- 
mer Orin had typhoid away up in Maine, and I stayed with 
her till autumn and she was ready to finish up her school, 
the last she ever taught. I never heard anything from 
Phoebe about a letter.” 

“But is there really and truly a drawer or a little place 
that looked like one, in the table — and O, could we see it 
and have it rolled back to show us, like that other day ?” 

Aunt Orin rose. How erect and fine she was, thought 
J oan, and not bent over a bit, for all her years. 

With slow and stately bearing she crossed the room and 
opened a door into a lower one, down which you descended by 
two steps. Joan clapped her hands. “I told you so, Lisbeth, 
I told you so ! O, I just love to be right, don’t you, Aunt 
Orin ?” 

“Don’t love it too well,” counselled the older woman, see- 
ing the resolute power upon the young face. “To love to be 
always right, ourselves, often makes us intolerant of an- 
other’s claims.” That resolute power within, was the other 
Wisdom strain and Aunt Orin knew its ill as well as its good 
effect. 

The floor of the lower room was painted a bright yellow, 
a round braided rug adorned its centre, upon which sat a 
table as round, spread with a snowy cloth, with dishes upon 
it for the evening meal. 

“We do not always ‘clear away,’ ” she explained, “now that 
we are older and have less strength to spare. The girl 
who helps me leaves after our dinner is through. If you 


134 


JOAN AT HALEWAY 


are hungry we will all have some milk and cookies upon it 
before I clear it off, that I may not lose the effort made in 
spreading it. I never suffer wasted efforts ; always make an 
effort count instead of being fruitless.” 

What a beautiful time it seemed to Joan as she watched 
the straight old form pass from closet to closet, placing upon 
the table the pictured plates and the high, thin glasses, the 
basket of cakes and the jug of creamy milk. 

“0, everything is so dear and beautiful here!” she ex- 
claimed. “O, let me come here and stay with you. I love 

you so ” and then she remembered Uncle Garret’s words, 

that she was adopted, belonged to him, and to Halfway, was 
not free, but bound, by writing and law, and her own signed 
name; bound, in that big dreary Halfway with the two 
who did not love her, while here in this darling house were 
those who both loved and wanted her. Her voice caught in 
her throat with a sob. Aunt Orin heard it. She had not la- 
boured all her long life with youth not to know what it meant, 
so young a voice to end in a sob. And she saw the two natures 
meeting in this child — that other older Joan, proud, re- 
sourceful, dominant — Philip, gay and joyous, craving praise 
and love. Which one of them was to rule? Which would 
steer her bark through life’s perilous course? 

A temptation sore it was to her own high honour to see 
the child at the old table, so winsome and sweet ; the uplifted 
face — Joan’s and Philip’s, both. So bright and clear the 
fresh young voice with the cadence and the upward lilt — 
Phil’s own. What joy it would be in their own lives to have 
her with them! Why should they not urge their claim and 
keep her. What better right had Garret ? They would all 
three talk it over, now, and she would learn what were Half- 
way orders as to the Island kin, for except Amsey’s mere men- 
tion of it there had been no reference as yet to the old feud. 

“Lisbeth,” said Aunt Orin, “you may go out around the 
Garden for a few minutes, while we speak of a family mat- 
ter to Joan. Take the scissors from the porch, and cut some 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GRANDCHILD 135 


flowers, only the blooms, not the buds, or the garden will 
not be gay.” This with the royal courtesy, that brooked of no 
refusal, nor gave offence ; for Joan watching quick to see if 
Lisbeth cared, saw that she accepted it just as it was given, 
going out with a gentle grace of acquiescence and a glance of 
frank admiration at the fine old face of the “queen of Sheba.” 

t 

When the door had closed behind her, Joan hurried across 
and flung her arms about Aunt Orin. “Let me stay. O, let 
me stay !” she sobbed, clinging to her in close embrace, and 
weeping out her desire against that fond old heart. 

Presently Aunt Orin loosed the clinging arms and lifted 
the tear-stained face from off her shoulder. “Sit down,” she 
said, “and let us see what we must do. Tell us what com- 
mands you have had given you, and what you know of the 
old trouble.” 

So Joan told them what Uncle Garret had said about her 
coming to the Island ; what she knew that Lisbeth had con- 
fided, about the bridge, and the property quarrel; but told 
them not of her adoption, since upon that score her lips were 
sealed. For anyway, thought she, with a sudden rebel 
tightening of her heart and will, if they do not know that, 
then they may possibly let me stay; and if they should, 
well, I would dare everything, and take whatever might 
happen “And O, won’t you let me come!” she pleaded. 

A silence fell within the room. Then Orin Wisdom told 
Joan the old story of the feud, briefly, touching only the 
salient features of it, necessary to account for the estrange- 
ment; Garret’s anger when he found his sister had eloped 
with Philip, the gay half-cousin ; his bitter and unreasonable 
wrath at his own chum and crony Amsey for helping them 
away ; a wrath that burned hot in revengeful words and deeds 
while he lived on at Halfway, embittering and changing his 
whole spirit, smouldering through all the absent years, and 
breaking out afresh upon his return when they had hoped 
for reconciliation. The many petty tyrannies inflicted, she 


136 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


did not speak of to so young a girl, only enough of the tale to 
point out to Joan that his bitterness was long and deep. 

“He hasn’t been fair,” said Joan, “and I am going to 
stay here. You have just as much right to me as he has.” 

“But it is he who brought you back, has provided for you, 
and given you a home. We could not put in our claim above 
that. We have only the equal right of relationship to plead.” 

“O, do say I can!” urged Joan to Uncle Amsey. 

“Well, we’ve got you by nine points of the law now, and 
I’m willing to chuck the balance and take the risk. But Orin 
has the say here,” with a good-comrade glance at his stately 
old sister. “She’s held sway so long, it doesn’t seem worth 
while trying to break up the habit now even though she’s 
down to only one scholar.” 

“Nobody rules, here,” replied she, “for we are of one 
mind. But it is not ours to decide, it is the child herself 
who has the say,” her clear old eyes feasting hungrily upon 
the bit of exquisite girlhood before her, the sole remnant be- 
side themselves of the Island blood and the cherished brother ; 
but reaching out and up with dominant mind far above that 
fleshly sway of sense and longing, within the veil where dwell 
honor and right, the high things of earth. 

0, stern and wisely-loving Aunt Orin ! How many a man 
and woman from out the boys and girls you taught, have 
looked back to that unflinching will that swerved never to 
“want,” or “may,” but ever up to “must,” — blessing you and 
thanking you for the power they felt within themselves to lift 
and conquer. 

Joan felt its sway now. Her eyes rested upon one, and 
then the other, coming back to the old aunt sitting silent upon 
her chair, the pose and poise of a prophet upon her while she 
waited the child’s decision. Then Joan’s eyes left them both, 
and looked within, and forth upon that outward quest which 
was her wont, and she saw Halfway, big and drear, Uncle 
Garret grim and cold yet seeming to need her, Aunt Hetty 
with placid and patient ways whom she often might ease from 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GRANDCHILD 137 


the brunt of the storms. And reaching up to Orin Wisdom’s 
High Place she made her answer. 

“Pm going back to Halfway — of course, but I think I’ll 
come down often as I like, to see you. I’m coming once more, 
anyway, so there !” giving Aunt Orin and Uncle Amsey each 
an ardent hug. And then with that Island strain of her 
blood, that brooded not nor cherished resentment she cut loose 
from all the vexing thought and reverted to the lost letter. 

“O, can I call in Lisheth, and we’ll help you clear the 
table quick, for I’ve got to he back and at the office when 
they open the mail. We just can’t go till I’ve seen that 
table make itself into a chair, and find out if there truly is 
a place where I could have tucked away the letter.” 

“It might not have been anything but some word about 
the butter you were sent for,” said Uncle Amsey. “Phoebe 
used to sell it while I was away, and if it was about that, 
why she would have destroyed it.” 

“Then again,” said Aunt Orin with pleasant raillery of 
the well-loved brother, “it might have been a billet-doux for 
Amsey, for in the old days Polly Ann was rather sweet upon 
him, but smelling-salts and shawls and fan superseded sweet- 
hearts, with Polly Ann, who began to love her ailments even 
when we were at school together. Here you are, Joan, it is 
ready,” as the table showed bare of dish and cloth. “Tip 
it gently at the spring, and it will go back itself.” And 
the big oak sphere swung up upon its hinges, as polished 
beneajh as above, up, and down again behind its supporting 
pedestal, forming a perfect chair, ample in proportions. 
Delightedly the two girls pushed it over the yellow floor to 
the wall, sitting down together upon its broad seat. 

“Have you got one like it at Halfway?” asked Lisheth 
of Joan. 

“There is a much grander dining table at Halfway,” an- 
swered Aunt Orin. “But this one was made when the house 
here was built, and no one has ever wished to change it. 
Now, Joan,” and she said the name so beautifully, just like 


138 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Joan had always dreamed its sound, “get down and search 
for your mislaid letter.” 

“Of course it wouldn’t be in the drawers where you keep 
your things,” said Joan, pulling them out a hit, and peeping 
upon the snowy linens and bright silver within. “I don’t 
believe there’s another drawer, after all. O, yes, this might 
he it, this little marked off place below the lowest one, it 
hasn’t any knobs, so it can’t he to pull out.” 

“That is the support, I think,” said Aunt Orin, judging 
with her eye its value and capacity. “I line the drawers 
afresh each month, hut I do not know that I ever pulled them 
all out to do it.” 

“Phoebe would, though,” interjected Amsey, “and if 
anything was there in her time it would have seen the light 
of day. Orin isn’t such a sharp housekeeper as that.” 

“Phoebe,” replied the stately old aunt, “would scrub every- 
thing inside and outside, for the mere sake of scrubbing. I 
wouldn’t call that housekeeping. I too could keep house after 
that fashion, as well as Phoebe, but I wouldn’t want to do so 
when there are such books to be read in the world, and so 
many who need a helping word.” 

The brother should have been withered, for it was said in 
the superior tone, that was evidently in use at the Island as 
well as at Halfway, and little Joan herself noticed it. But 
Amsey only chuckled. He and Orin were the best of friends, 
and her high manner, a gift from the other “half,” never 
awed him in the least. 

Joan and Lisbeth were down upon their knees before the 
chair. “If I had something like a knitting needle I could 
run it in the crack between,” said Joan, “and see if it touched 
anything like paper — 0, I do believe it does !” as she thrust 
in the long needle. 

Uncle Amsey came to their aid with his sharp knife. Both 
drawers were removed, and by dint of pressing over the 
upper surface, the little oblong space that had looked like a 
secret one, actually pushed out before their astonished eyes; 


IT MUST BE PHILIP’S GRANDCHILD 139 


not a real drawer, but support for the others, as Orin had 
suggested, and within the revealed aperture lay the mislaid 
missive, not in an envelope at all, the thin paper, several 
sheets of it, simply folded and turned down at one corner, and 
addressed to Mr. Amsey Wisdom. 

Aunt Orin lifted it out. “Probably crossed and recrossed,” 
commented she, passing it over to its owner. “Polly Ann 
always forgot half she was going to say till she had used up 
her sheets ; hut she had a kind heart under her ailments and 
her frailties, and had it not been for her, where would our 
little Joan have been cared for. Do you remember her very 
plainly, Joan?” 

“No; only a little bit, but all I remember about her is 
nice. 0, what did she say in the letter? Did it make any 
real difference anybody not getting it ?” 

“As the letter is not to us, my dear, but for your uncle, he 
will read it in his own time, and if there should be anything 
of import in it for you, we will speak of it when you come 
again.” 

Joan’s face flushed, not with vexation at the rebuke but 
because she felt she had been misunderstood. “0, excuse 
me,” she said, “I didn’t mean to be — inquisitive. Do you 
think I will really be allowed to come again ?” 

Aunt Orin patted her small hand. “I am glad to see 
you understand,” said she. “Curiosity dwells only within 
small minds. Yes, I think you will he coming, once again, at 
least. In the main, Garret is a just man, and when he has 
learned you have really seen us he possibly may alter his 
first command.” 

“Not unless he’s changed his spots since morning when 
he had those foot-planks taken clear away,” said Amsey. 
“Lucky for us we’ve a good pile of them that length on the 
Island, out of his reach. Silly old fool he is to nurse his 
spleen and cheat himself out of such fine company as Orin 
and me. Be sure only to come in broad day if you do come 
again, and I guess we’d never let you go now if we thought 


140 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

you wouldn’t. There’s that short cut, Orin; it would be a 
quicker route.” 

But Orin Wisdom shook her head. “Let them return as 
they came. It is time, Joan, if you want to reach the office 
at the right hour. Good-bye, Lisbeth,” proffering the washer- 
woman’s girl a kindly hand and a friendly pat upon her 
shoulder. “Jane has done well by you to follow my instruc- 
tions and keep you to yourself. You have a pretty and 
modest mien of your own, I see.” 

And then she opened wide her arms as before, and drew 
Joan close to her heart. “Philip’s dear grandchild,” she 
murmured. “God watch between us, and direct us in our 
troubled way. Good-bye, my pet.” 

“Not afraid to go back over the old pike, are you?” asked 
Uncle Amsey, bestowing upon her another of his bruin hugs, 
and a kiss upon the creamy cheeks. 

“What have they to fear upon such an unfrequented way ?” 
said Orin Wisdom. “Let us fear more the things that are 
within our hearts. It was because my little brother Phil 
feared not the foes within, that he failed and fell short. 
Good-bye,” her clear old voice with its oracular note, follow- 
ing them like a benison as they started back over the old 
road. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A LONG LOST LETTER 

W HEH they had passed out of sight of the two who 
watched, and the sound of their sweet young voices 
no longer was heard, Or in Wisdom folded away her broidery 
within the work-basket, closed the hook she had been reading 
at their entrance and placed it upon its pile on the little 
stand. 

“I must go outdoors for the rest of the day,” she said. “I 
could not content myself inside. It is as if a rainbow had 
faded from a grey sky, or a bright-plumaged bird flown past. 
I will go out in the garden to work. The iris needs divid- 
ing.” 

“Wait till we go over the letter,” said Amsey. “Why 
should those enquiries we made for the child years ago have 
come to naught, and Garret’s search he rewarded ! It heats 
all how he manages to succeed in getting what he’s after. 
I’d like to see him brought low in something for once.” 
“Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord,” quoted the old sister. 
“I know,” said Amsey, “but I can’t wait. I want to see 

it with my own eyes ” this, jocularly, with a side glance 

at Orin to see if he had overstepped the hounds. 

But her woman’s heart, loving and longing, was ruling, 
just now, and there was no reproof forthcoming. “Read your 
letter,” said she, no expression of curiosity as to its con- 
tents, for it was his, and not her own, and they had been 
bred with a fine respect for other people’s Holy of Holies — 
secrets, slumber, one’s own pen, and the like o’ that ; with the 
same fine instinct, not even watching him as he read, but 

141 


142 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


busying her hands arranging one of the drawers of the lit- 
tle table, though her thoughts were far away. 

“Well, well,” he ejaculated several times through its 
persual, and finally was at the end. /Head it aloud,” he 
said, passing it across, “I’ll get the sense of it all better in 
the spoken words. It’s Polly Cleaveland all through, poor 
girl ; she must have felt sorry to get no answer.” 

Or in Wisdom spread out the thin sheets, a peep within to 
the inside pages. “Not crossed, I see, but a long letter, and 
several postscripts instead. What a fine hand she had, no- 
body writes like that these days,” and she read aloud the 
missive that had been hidden away so many years. 

“Dear Cousin Amsey: 

For though you are a thrice removed one I think of you 
as much nearer, because with all my immediate family now 
deceased I dwell with affection upon the kindred who are 
left me. I came down here, obeying a long cherished desire 
to spend a summer amid the scenes of my childhood, but an 
inscrutable Providence has ruled otherwise, afflicting me with 
more than my wonted ills, so that I am alarmed at what may 
result, and feel that I must hasten back to the four walls 
of the room I call home. 

I brought with me the little grandchild of Joan Wisdom, 
she who married your younger brother. Joan did not long 
survive him, and she left behind her in that foreign land, 
their child, a little girl, who by some strange means (which 
I shall hope to tell you if we meet) drifted back to California 
and was linked up with my life until her own death, leaving 
behind her, as did her mother before her, an orphan baby 
girl — Joan also by name. 

I have but one room for domain , all nr len er means af- 
ford, and to train up a child to " ^ ~ ° ’n mb crowded 
quarters, with my poor strength, was oeyona tuought. &o 
I felt guided to bring her with me, here, thinking there would 
be a place for her with some of her kindred. But I find 


A LONG LOST LETTER 


143 


Halfway closed and Garret Wisdom in distant parts, so that 
hope is blasted. Debbie, who used to play with the child’s 
grandmother in the long ago has had her heart hardened for 
her by Adversity, and it would thus be idle to even suggest 
such a charge to her, nor would they get on well together, for 
this small Joan the Fourth has Wisdom ways, (though our 
Island strain has doubtless tempered the traits unlovely that 
might otherwise have appeared in the ascendent — the master- 
ful will — the pride' inordinate, and love of power. 

With proper surroundings she will make a splendid woman, 
has grace, and unusual wit of her own, even thus far along. 
In short, Cousin Amsey, will you take her, at the Island, 
you and Orin ? I regret to learn of Orin’s illness, but since 
she is no longer to conduct her school I would call it a special 
Providence in Joan’s behalf, for Orin will now be free to 
take her; and to grow up in the house with Orin would in 
itself be a liberal education. 

•I hear that you are yourself to be back to-day, and Betty 
by a fortunate chance wishing some extra butter, I am able 
to send this note to you by Joan herself, and the little girl 
who accompanies her. Look Joan over. I think you will 
find her desirable, and let me have an answer speedily as 
possible, for symptoms of my malady are strong upon me and 
the summons to return may come suddenly. 

I think proper to confide to you a tale told me by her 
mother, who had it from her own mother’s lips. Garret, as 
you well know, strangely turned against his sister Joan for 
marrying into the Half’s, doubtless influencing her father to 
disinherit her in his will. But perhaps you do not know 
that he turned also against the little gipsy step-sister, the 
child of the gipsy girl whom his father had married in his 
old age. Garret got on fairly well with the wife, but the 
little step-sister he could not abide, a Wisdom with gipsy 
blood in her veins, so after the death of his father, and the 
wife herself, he sent the child back to her own people — the 


144 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


caravan of them that often camped in the beechwoods. But 
it seems from the story told me, that the old Squire, in his last 
days, in another freak of fancy, made a will in favor of the 
wife and of Joan, whom he had before disowned, a secret will 
that Garret knew not of. In some way the gipsy managed 
to have Joan acquainted with this, and Joan made a journey 
hack here to see what facts she could learn concerning it. 
But Halfway as now was boarded up, you and Orin were 
away, and she was thus shut out from both homes, so returned 
again to the West, disappointed in her hopes, and the old 
scenes ,*knew her no more forever, for she met her death 
shortly afterward. 

I do not know what truth there was in it, hut if it were 
a fact, then this little Joan the Fourth would inherit Half- 
way over and above Garret, for I have ascertained that the 
step-sister, too, has passed away, long years ago. There was 
something about the loom-room, in the story (I think, if 
I remember aright, there is such a room in the old house). 
I hold the gipsies’ belief, that nothing can keep us from what 
is to be ours, or good or ill, granting we give Providence a 
free hand to sway and lead us, so in thus passing the tale 
on to you I fulfil my own finite obligations concerning it. 

Hoping for a favourable reply to this necessarily lengthy 
epistle, I am, ever and alway, 

Yours with affection, 

Polly Ann Cleaveland. 

P. S. 

I have often wished to go again to the Island, to play in 
its garden paths, surely the sweetest since ever the world 
began ; to trip my feet over the sunny brick paved yards and 
to sit in that beautiful round parlour, upstairs, that had 
no corners and seemed so fairylike to us who had mere 
square ones, upon the ground floors. The child herself 
knows nothing about the ‘Island,’ and ‘Halfway,’ being the 
family homes. She is too young for that yet, considering 


A LONG LOST LETTER 


145 


there would needs be certain stories told concerning them — 
and I shall leave their unfolding to Providence and to Time. 


P. A. C. 


N. B. 


When I have been forced to wander so many years in the 
wilderness of memories alone, it seems strange that I should 
be denied the Promised Land, now that my feet have just 
set themselves upon its borders, its golden sweets denied 
me — one of which was to walk down that Island road with 
you again, as we often walked, Dear Cousin Amsey, in the 
years agone, when I would be on a visit to Orin. Even then, 
young as I was, a long distance tired me, but you always 
understood me, and were kind. Now that I am grown old I 
am afflicted heavily with aches and pains, in back and head 
and heart, and the regions down below. Some people accuse 
me of fancying them. Why, I pray, should I desire to fancy 
anything so disagreeable as an ache or pain, or a spasm ? If 
I have imagination why would I not put it to better use and 
imagine I have no pain at all ? It is in truth an ailment real 
and alarming that would call me back before I set eyes upon 
Orin and yourself, if that needs must be. Pardon my ram- 
bling note. This is truly its end. 

Polly C.” 


“She could have put all she really said on two pages,” said 
Orin Wisdom, folding the thin close-written sheets. “But 
Polly could never condense, even in her compositions at 
school.” 

“I call it a pretty nice letter,” said Amsey, “and if it had 
been delivered to me the time it was sent, there’s no telling 
what might have happened. She maybe would have stayed 
right on here, her and Joan both. I guess she would have 
been willing enough.” 

“According to her own philosophy, then it wasn’t to be, 
for she surely gave you a good ‘finite’ start in that letter. 
I would call it a ‘special Providence,’ on your behalf, the 


146 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


balking of it all, for you would have been nothing but a slave 
to her fancies had you brought her here,” said Orin. “But 
it is not Polly I am lamenting, it is the child, who might 
have been with us all these years, instead of now up at Half- 
way with Garret and Hetty.” 

“Pd like to get at the root of it all, how he got track of 
her and why he had her come. Maybe he’s not so hard- 
hearted after all, Orin. He may be trying to make up for 
having his father disown and disinherit Joan.” 

“I thought you wanted vengeance upon him !” 

“I did, and I still do, but you know what cronies we 
were, and nobody, since, ever took his place, in spite of 
all his ugliness. And it was the same way, with every- 
body else. At old ‘Gorham’ he’d badger and browbeat the 
fellows, and then suddenly turn round and show the really 
splendid side there was to him, and they’d forget the bully- 
ing and follow him anywhere. All that fine nature hidden 
away — and we two might have such good times again! 
Darn him, why couldn’t he be like Alexander or Captain 
Nat, instead of the old termagant he is !” 

“If you want him like them, why not be satisfied with 
Alec and Nat, and not hanker after Garret?” said Orin with 
her oracular air. “He could never have known these two 
girls were away together. That must have been some of 
Hetty’s easy-going ways, to serve some turn to herself, for 
Garret is foolishly proud and would never let the child com- 
panion with Jane’s. What a pretty face she had, though, 
and unusual ways for a girl of her station and rearing. 
Jane sets great store by her, I hear, and must have followed 
my counsel as to keeping her secluded, or she could never 
have looked so modest. How our Joan seemed to love her.” 

“Not much ‘ours,’ if she’s only to be allowed down once 
again, and perhaps not even that ! I believe I’ll go up and 
demand her by the law,” said he, in rueful reflection of what 
the sweet young presence would be in their lonely lives. 

“We haven’t any more rights than Garret has.” 


A LONG LOST LETTER 


147 


“But we’ve equal ones, and we have Joan’s own desire to 
add to our right. He’d turn her out too, quick as he turned 
the others, if she ever crossed him. Wonder what there was 
in that story of Polly’s about the will favouring the gipsy 
wife. I’d like to see him put out of home and Halfway him- 
self.” 

“And you’d offer him one at the Island soon as he was 
shut out of the other.” 

“Maybe so, maybe so,” assented Amsey. “For I never 
gave anybody up so lothly as I gave up Garret. But when 
I see that bridge down, that had taken the Island family 
over the creek ever since Wisdoms were around, and you 
kept from setting foot across, and only getting to see the 
folks by that twelve mile route, I feel as though I’d never 
rescue him even if he fell in himself and was drowning.” 

The old sister smiled across, a tender quizzical good-com- 
rade smile, that he understood. “We’ll have to let it all 
alone,” said she, “do what is right ourselves, and wait the 
turn of events. The story of the will is only one of Polly’3 
romantic imaginings, probably. I am going to the garden 
now awhile, and you can get your button put upon the door. 
Jennie says old Jem the gipsy is back in the heechwood. 
You could have got a button from him. They always had a 
good supply when they came, in the old days. Only Jem 
is left now of all the band. I suppose even gipsy-caravans 
are passing away in this new age of the world. We’re getting 
old, Amsey, and out of fashion ourselves.” 

“Not a bit of it,” said he stoutly, “leastwise not me! and 
if anybody but yourself said it of you I’ll venture you’d let 
him soon see how mistaken he was! If I go across to the 
south meadow to-morrow I guess I’ll cut over to the beech- 
grove and see if I find Jem. Talk about getting on in 
years, Jem is the one is old. He was nearly bent double five 
years ago. Wonder why he comes here still, now that his 
people are all gone.” 

“It’s their custom. They are strongly attached to all the 


148 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


spots where once they ever camped, and come back always 
to them as long as they are waste lands and not occupied. 
The caravan of them that camped there when we were young 
made the old grove gay with colour and life. Amsey,” as a 
disturbing thought suddenly entered her mind — “you don’t 
suppose those children would stray up the path that leads to 
where he would be. It turns right off the old road.” 

“Well, old Jem wouldn’t harm them if they did.” 

“I believe that, but there might be others around, seeking 
their fortunes and such things. They should never have 
come down alone.” 

Amsey smiled — that crooked one that he had from his for- 
bears, an almost wicked little curve to it upon his whimsical 
old face. 

“Fear more the foes within” quoted he solemnly. And 
then he made peace with her by stroking her arm as he passed 
her by. 

“I know, I know,” he said, “we’re both of us kind of los- 
ing grip of ourselves with seeing Phil’s grandchild in the 
old home. But I’m done worrying about it, for I believe 
we’ll come out ahead of Garret on this count, and have her 
here for good, sometime. I don’t know when I ever went so 
long without a drink of water, though, and I’m off now for 
a fresh pail. Guess she’d be victuals and drink to us both 
if she came, and we’d be saved drawing and stirring.” And 
with this pleasantry the old man went out to some duties 
about the place, and Orin to her garden. But to both the 
sky was grey and lone, for the “rainbow” had faded from it, 
and the “bright winged bird” had flown. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE END OF A LOVELY DAY 

T HE two were but halfway through the old road when 
approaching footsteps and a whistled tune fell upon 
their ears. 

“I suppose we’ll meet everybody we know before we can 
get back/’ said Joan. 

“That wouldn’t be many, for me,” said Lisbeth. “I know 
a lot about most everybody around, for Jane tells me; but 
I don’t often see them, because since the mines opened up 
people use that road more, and not the post one that goes 
by our place. It’s funny, too, sometimes I match the people 
up with the things Jane tells me about them, and often when 
I really do see them they’re just as different as can be from 
what I’d expected.” 

“S-sh!” interrupted Joan, “whoever that is is just around 
the turn there, and it must be a man because the whistling 
is so loud. Are you afraid, Lisbeth ? Should we run in here 
under the trees and hide? But Aunt Orin said nobody 
on this road would hurt us, so let us keep right on — 0 !” as 
the whistler rounded the curve some yards ahead. “It’s 
only Pelig! He helps do the work at Halfway, but he’s 
some relation and his name is Pelig, and I’m allowed to talk 
to him. We wont need, though, to tell him we’ve been at 
Aunt Orin’s.” 

“Been down the Island road ?” asked he as they met. 
“Yes,” answered Joan. “Is that where you are going?” 
But Pelig shook his head in preliminary to his reply. 
“I’m off to see the gipsy, to get a mouse-trap out of him, 
if he’s any on hand.” 


149 


150 


JOAN” AT HALFWAY 


Both girls looked their surprise. “What gipsy?” asked 
Joan, “and where is he?” 

“Old Seaforth, the last one of the crowd of them that 
used to come every year, Mrs. Wisdom says. They call him 
Jem. He’s camping in the beech-grove. There’s a short cut 
to it, branches off just below here. You didn’t notice it 
likely, not knowing. Would you like to come along with me 
to see him ?” 

“0, wouldn’t I! Don’t you think we could go and just 
have one peep, Lisbeth ? Then we could hurry back fast and 
get to the office in time.” 

“I couldn’t go,” said Lisbeth in reluctant refusal. 

“But .you said you wanted to and that you would if I 
would, that day I went to see you.” 

“I know, but when I told Jane, she said I was never to 
go near him, nor any of them.” 

“And so you wouldn’t dare, then ?” queried the other, not 
in conscious temptation, but loth herself to relinquish such 
a long desire when it was now within her reach. 

“Ho, not after I’d really promised not to.” 

Joan gave the thin arm a loving squeeze. “I was bad 
to ask you twice over. I won’t go now, either, but I’ll ask 
if I can come to-morrow, if Pelig will show me the way 
again. Pelig, what does he look like, a real gipsy? And 
what does he do in the woods ? Does he have a big covered 
waggon like the pictures of them always show ?” 

“Looks like himself most likely,” said the youth — “and he 
peddles mousetraps, and clothes-pegs, and buttons, for a liv- 
ing. That’s what I’m after, all three. The mice are in the 
corn-crib, and the latch is broken on the stable door. I 
thought one of Jem’s old buttons would hold it till we could 
send in to town.” 

“Why, that was what Uncle Amsey was doing,” exclaimed 
Joan; “whittling out a button,” and then she stopped sud- 
denly. That was twice she had put her foot into things this 
day, and her face coloured with vexation. 


THE END OF A LOVELY DAY 


151 


Pelig looked his surprise and gave a curious glance at 
both girls. “Thought you was lame,” said he to the washer- 
woman’s girl. “I’ve often seen you on your crutch by the 
bridge. The Island house is a long way in.” 

Joan interposed. “We can’t tell you about it now,” said 
she, “so never mind, Pelig.” And great-aunt Orin’s splen- 
did manner of dismissal was not more regal than Joan’s own. 
“We must he going, Lisbeth.” 

But Pelig was not to be snubbed and sent on his way upon 
such short notice. Awkward and rustic youth though he was, 
his pulses had quickened at sight of their young faces, his 
fancy fed at their girlish speech, and he did not mean to 
relinquish them just yet. Nature upbore him and con- 
quered his awkwardness. “That’s all right,” said he. “My 
own tongue often makes a slip. Least said is soonest mended, 
and you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. 
But it’s a fine spot, the Island house. I go there myself 
sometimes. It’s my job to take the foot planks up and put 
them down again.” 

A head of wood and a heart of stone could not have with- 
stood that, and Joan’s was neither, so she was caught in the 
noose. 

“Put them down again ?” she queried. “Do you put them 
across again after you’ve taken them up ?” 

“Sure thing I do ! Pull them over by Mr. Wisdom’s 
orders, and lay them on the hank on Halfway land. Then 
I take them up and put them across again, by my own. 
And he never caught on to it till to-day, when he made me 
have the team haul them up in the yard where he could 
keep track of them. So now Mr. Amsey Wisdom and I will 
have to think up a new plan. There’s always a way out of 
everything if you study it up.” 

Joan couldn’t resist a giggle, remembering what Uncle 
Amsey had said about the big pile of planks at the Island. 
It would take a long time to get that pile up to Halfway, 
by way of the creek foot-bridge ! It was really a very dread- 


152 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


ful thing for Uncle Garret to do, and yet it was funny too, but 
perhaps they shouldn’t talk about it before Lisbeth, an out- 
sider. 

“Isn’t Aunt Orin splendid ?” she said by way of turning 
the drift. “And such a darling house they have !” 

“Halfway is better, to my mind, and Mrs. Wisdom suits 
me,” said the boy stolidly and frankly. 

“I don’t see why,” said Joan, “you could almost do what 
you wanted to all day long, at the Island, and they love any- 
body so, don’t they, Lisbeth ?” 

But Lisbeth, this time, was not one with her. “I like Half- 
way best, too,” she answered, half reluctant to disagree, but 
sure of her conviction — “and I’d like to stay there always and 
always !” 

Joan was a bit discomfited, as if rebuked by the two, and 
then her frank outspoken heart lifted her above the hurt. 

“I guess I do too, truly,” said she. “It was because they 
were so glad to see me that I thought it was the nicest. Come 
Lisbeth, we must hurry up. Good-bye, Pelig,” and taking 
her by the hand they turned away and were soon out of 
sight of Pelig. 

“He’ll tell where we’ve been, won’t he ?” asked Lisbeth. 

“0, no, he won’t. He’s not that kind.” 

“But how do you know? You never asked him not to.” 

“I don’t think I’d have to. I don’t really know him much, 
but he looks like that, tall and strong, and that nice red 
head. Don’t you like his red hair? I never really knew 
anybody before with red hair. And isn’t it funny the way 
he pulls that lock of it that hangs over his eyes, as if it was a 
hat he was touching.” 

“His eyes are like Mr. Wisdom’s. My, but his are blue 
ones, and so sharp they looked me straight through; and 
Pelig’s are like them, aren’t they ?” 

“Yes,” assented Joan, “that’s where he looks like the fam- 
ily, Aunt Hetty says. She is awfully good to him, not a 
bit as if he was hired, and wasn’t it nice for him to speak 


THE END OF A LOVELY DAY 


153 


up for her that way and say she suited him best. That’s one 
of the reasons I know he wouldn’t tell. He’s the true sort. 
But anyway it makes no difference if he should.” 

“Why, I thought from what you said that you were not 
allowed to go to see the Island folks.” 

“So I’m not. Uncle Garret asked me not to go.” 

“Well then are you going to tell him you were there?” 

“Yes, I am. I’ve been thinking it over, and I shall tell 
him everything about it.” 

“But why ?” asked Lisheth. “If Pelig isn’t going to tell 
on us there would be nobody else to know, except me, Joan, 
and I’d hate for you to he scolded when we’ve had such a 
lovely time together. Do you have to, Joan?” 

“Yes, I have to, or else I wouldn’t he the right kind of 
stuff.” 

“It’s queer about the different ‘kinds,’ ” said Lisheth. “Pe- 
lig wont tell, because he’s one kind, and you will tell because 
you’re another. And, Joan, I don’t know what kind you’d 
call me, but I have known all along that I would tell Jane, 
everything about it; for I promised her once that I’d never 
keep one thing hack from her, so she could always trust me. 
And I was feeling sorry I had to, if you didn’t want it known, 
yourself, but now it’s all right. Jane won’t go around talking 
about it though, what she calls ‘blabbing.’ She never does 
that. And I don’t think she’ll mind if I did go, because she 
likes Miss Orin, and once she told me that if anything hap- 
pened to her before I was grown up that they would take me, 
down there, to live with them.” 

“O, Lisheth ! You to be living in that darling place where 
I’d love to be myself!” cried Joan. 

“But it wouldn’t he the same,” explained Lisheth, quick 
to hear the rueful, tender longing in the words that sprang 
involuntarily from Joan’s heart. “For you see I’d he a 
helper to them, and not a real one of their family like you — 
and anyway I’m most grown up now, so there won’t likely 
be the need; and I hope nothing ever happens to Jane till 


154 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Pm able to make lots and lots of money and give her a good 
time for all she’s done for me, and ” 

“Here’s Pelig again,” interrupted Joan. “He’s whistling 
for us to stop. I wonder what be wants,” as the tall slouch- 
ing fellow approached them hurriedly, his hand as usual 
upon the down-hanging lock for salute. 

“Forgot all about telling you that Mrs. Wisdom said if I 
saw you at the brook to say that Jane didn’t want to be 
driven home, but was going somewhere on an errand, and 
for you,” turning to the washerwoman’s girl, “to go straight 
back to the cabin, and not wait for her at Dempsey’s Corner. 
Almost forgot the whole thing. Guess you’ll be pretty tuck- 
ered out when you do get there,” and with another tug at his 
red lock he was gone again. 

“Now you see the kind he is,” said Joan. “Wasn’t it 
nice for him not to talk any longer to us. I think I like 
him a lot, even if he is a boy, but of course he is some rela- 
tion, anyway, and that makes a difference. O Lisbeth, now 
we’ve just got a little bit of a way longer to be together, for 
you’ll have to go back the very shortest road and I’ll have 
to hurry to the office, and our lovely day will be ended. 
But we’ll perhaps have a lot more.” 

“I hardly dare believe it,” said Lisbeth wistfully. “It’s 
been almost too good to have over again. And I’m afraid 
Mr. Wisdom won’t ever let you be with me again, for he 
looked at me so hard. I wasn’t a bit afraid of him, though. 
I should think he would be so glad to own such a beautiful 
place as Halfway, and that fine room he was sitting in. If 
we’re not allowed to have any more good times together, 
why we’ve had this one, anyway. And Joan, I think you’ve 
been so lovely to me, not a bit proud, as Jane thought you’d 
be. I don’t ever really feel badly because I’m poor, but of 
course I am ; and lots of girls like you who have a fine house 
to live in wouldn’t go with me at all, and that’s why I think 
you’re so beautiful.” 

“I’m only poor myself,” said Joan. “Halfway isn’t my 


THE END OF A LOVELY DAY 


155 


own house, and I have to help work the same as you do. 
What’s the difference whether we’re poor or rich, I just know 
we’re going to he good friends and get together somehow. I 
feel it in my hones — that’s what Phoebe says, and I see it in 
m 7 eyes. I wonder if Phoebe and Jane had a fuss, as you 
thought they would if Phoebe went up. That’s why Aunt 
Hetty goes away visiting, always, on the days she comes to 
Halfway, to save having a row, she says. Aunt Hetty gets 
along so nice with everybody, though, I wouldn’t think they’d 
quarrel even if she stayed home.” 

“ J ane says she’s too easy going.” 

“And Uncle Garret is too hard going,” laughed Joan. “I’d 
like to be just between both ways.” 

“But you have to be just as you’re made, Jane says.” 

“O, no, you don’t,” exclaimed Joan with vigour. “A 
teacher at the School told us we could change ourselves if we 
really tried to. She said if your fingers were bent you could 
straighten them out, and your shoulders if they were all 
stooped over, and so why couldn’t we make ourselves 
straighten out inside, too. And I believe it, and 0, Lisbeth, 
wouldn’t I like to be straight and splendid clear through.” 

“But Miss Orin said that there were things ‘within’ to be 
afraid of, and she knows everything.” 

“Well, we’ll fight them!” said Joan, “and O, here’s our 
turn, and your Corner, and we have to leave our darling 
road behind. I’m awfully afraid I’ll be late with the mail. 
Good-bye and good-bye, Lisbeth. I’m going to hug you so 
hard I’ll crack your ribs, and you’d better look out — so 
there ! and there !” with a fervent embrace at each exclama- 
tion. And without further lingering of their parting, the two 
went their separate ways, only a white flutter of hands as 
each disappeared around the bend. 


CHAPTER XV 


a gipsy’s encampment 

U PON the little "beech-grove on the Tongue, early dusk 
was descending, concealing the sparse growth of what 
had once been a thick wood, filling the open spaces with 
soft shadows; and hiding from view the foot path that led 
in from the Island road. 

Old J em had been wandering through the countryside all 
the day, out into the next Settlement at the noon stretch, 
selling his wooden wares to the housewives, and their bits 
of silver jingled cheerily in his pocket — a-plenty to buy him 
a neck-kerchief, a pair of stout boots for the winter’s tramp- 
ping ahead, and some change to lay up. Food cost him but 
little money. With his gun he could often bring down the 
birds that flew from tree to tree at his approach. A rabbit 
now and then could be snared; and bits of bacon and pork 
or a loaf of bread were sometimes given instead of coin, but 
were never asked as dole or alms, for a gipsy scorns to beg. 
Nor does he steal outright. Poach, he may, from farmyard 
flocks if the fernfowl are scarce; pilfer, mayhap, here and 
there from the growing crops, potatoes from the patch and 
apples from the orchards, for the wild roving nature akin to 
the birds of the air in their freedom feels no compunction at 
a full bag, if caught ; but he never takes for gain, nor beyond 
his one day’s ration — to-morrow will be its own provider. If 
caught in the act he lies out of it if possible, or pays his fine 
and moves on to fresh pastures. 

When first the brown-faced, free-footed people made their 
advent in the countryside, two score and more there were 
of them in the encampment, if you counted the children, and 
156 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 


157 


another if you counted the ponies and the dogs. Ear from 
the centres of population, and off the main highways, it was 
a wonder they found their way thither. Some knowledge 
must have reached them of the whitewood in the swamps for 
the making of their wares, of special fibre and strength; 
for here they tarried longer than at other sections of the 
country, fashioning in quantities the various commodities 
of their trade. 

At the start the settlers did not like their coming, and 
especially between the Wisdoms upon their high hills, and 
the wanderers, was there distrust and dislike. But it was 
seen that they did no harm in the community, lived decently 
among themselves, furnishing the people with the smallware 
wooden necessities of housekeeping not to he purchased from 
stores in these early days, so the distrust subsided, and 
passed away, mostly. Some of the young fellows of the band 
often helped out in the late harvesting, and the girls in the 
homes. Once one of the girls stayed behind as helper at Half- 
way, for love of the great house, and the mistress for whom 
she had been named. That was years ago, when Uncle Gar- 
ret and Cousin Alexander and Orin and Amsey had been 
young together. After the death of the mistress of Halfway, 
and the master of it had taken the gipsy girl for wife, the 
tribe came only at intervals. Some people said they were 
paid a handsome sum to keep away. Whether that was true 
or not, could not be proved, and there could easily have been 
other reasons. The woods had been cut down behind the 
beech-grove, the grove itself thinned out; there was a new, 
heavy license tax to pay for their brief sojourn in the munici- 
pality. Also the houses round about seemed well stocked 
with their articles of merchandise, since moths and rust do 
not corrupt a wooden vessel nor thieves break through to 
steal. 

While Halfway was vacant, some few of them appeared 
each year at midsummer, for a letter that always was await- 
ing the head of the tribe, at the Post Office, but since Gar- 


158 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


ret Wisdom had taken up his domicile here again there 
had been no letters, though now and then two or three of the 
gipsies in a single horse van would be known to have been in 
the neighbourhood. 

This year old Seaforth, or Jem as he was more often 
called, had been camped in the grove hut a day or so, and 
few had heard of his arrival. He had made hut one call, 
as yet, and that at the Post Office, though not for mail. 
Passing by just as the Postmaster was locking up for night, 
Alexander had recognised and hailed him, jumping up on 
the waggon and riding on home with him, far as the oak- 
clump of three. It was strange too, for they had been talk- 
ing of the gipsies that very morning in the office, and when 
George shoved along with his lock-sacks he brought word of 
J em’s presence in the vicinity. The news of it recalled old 
scenes and memories among them. 

“I’d give one of these new ten dollar hills,” said the Post- 
master, behind his pulpit counting out his money, “one of 
these new tenners, and give it gladly if I could feel again 
the thrill that used to run down my hack hone when we would 
hear the train of them was coming to town. Recollect it, 
Samuel ? Garret and Amsey and I many a time have climbed 
the willows out on the old post-road, to watch the caravan 
drive in. IJyl ? twas a sight, to us country youngsters — a 
string of donkeys and ponies, with outriders ahead the big 
van, the tall dark-brown men driving or leading them, the 
women in bright shawls and gowns, the hare-legged, brown- 
faced youngsters. I can see them all now, plain as day.” 

“What I liked best was to watch them set up their encamp- 
ment,” said Silas. “We used to play hookey always the first 
few days, till teacher would hear word of their coming and 
get onto our excuses. To steal down from the trees and in 
around where they were staking off — Buffalo Bill wasn’t 
in it for wonder — nor Coney Island !” 

“You wouldn’t feel that same way if you could see it all 
happen to-day,” quoth Samuel. “It’s like all the other sights 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 


159 

and scents and times of childhood. The strange mystery and 
kind of halo about them, is because they’re gone forever, 
and can’t come back again. Speaking of smells, I used to 
wish I could once have tasted their savory-pot that bubbled 
and stewed all day long over their camp fire. To snifi it 
cooking, off in the edge of the woods where we were, it 
smelled like everything you wanted, venison and birds and 
herbs and joints a-roast — wonder if it really was fit to eat, 
made up of all sorts of scraps and game; like our succotash, 
I guess, the more kinds of things you put in it the better it 
tastes and the less could you name what it really is that 
gives it the tang.” 

“Old Seaforth is showing his age, I hear,” said George; 
“most bent double. Don’t see why he’d ride here so far, 
alone.” 

“He used to be a tall, powerful looking man, and a great 
horse dealer ; what he didn’t know about horses wasn’t worth 
telling,” said the Postmaster. “I expect he had an itching 
to get back once more to that old waste spot under the 
beeches. It used to be a great place for them, foliage was 
almost a camp in itself without setting up canvas. It’s all 
cut away now, behind and around it, and even the beech- 
wood thinned out — lumber folks don’t care for beauty or 
sentiment, all they see in a piece of woods is so many feet 
of something to cut and sell. We might drive down there to- 
morrow,” said he, “and have a look in on old Jem, as he’s 
last of his line; eh, Samuel, will you go?” 

“Sure thing, I will. The last of his line — yes, that’s what 
he is, I reckon. And they’re not good mixers into other lines. 
Now that girl Garret’s mother took, and his father mar- 
ried ” 

Alexander rose. “Since they are all three of them dead 
and gone we’ll leave them and their doings in peace,” said he, 
retiring to some work behind his “pulpit.” 

Samuel laughed crisply. “Always the way with you Wis- 
doms — never speak of your frailties but always of your fine 


160 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


doings; it’s a very good way, too, keeps your feet stepping 
high. I’ll bring over my team with me to-morrow and we’ll 
have a ride down. Have to limber up considerable, though, 
before we can climb those willows! We’ll have our fortunes 
told, too, maybe !” said he. 

Before the dusk had settled upon the beech-wood, old J em 
had hobbled his pony for the night in the short grass at the 
edge of the grove, whence his cropping could be heard from 
the van where presently Jem himself would be tucked away. 
He had set his pot a-boiling over the small fire, that its con- 
tents might be simmering for the early morning meal. The 
savoury condiments and the pungent smoke were sharp scents 
upon the evening air, so that a traveller seeking the camp 
could easily have found it by following his nose. 

Through a lane’s break in the beech-wood, that led to the 
lake, the crescent moon and its attendant star fell full upon 
him with beaming brightness. Intent upon the stirring of 
the savoury bouillon and the feeding of the fire beneath it, 
his dull ears heard naught but the crop, crop of the old nag’s 
nibble, till suddenly the dogs started up with a snarling 
bark that ended in a fawning whimper when a voice spoke 
to them from the shadowed foot-path. 

He dropped his stirring paddle into the bubbling pot, as 
the beech limbs parted and Jane, the Skipper, came up to 
him. She had not on the usual hat with strings that set 
low over her hard, worn face, but a small shawl, tied down 
beneath her chin, and a larger one upon her shoulders. The 
heavy coal-black hair which she always wore spread over 
face and ears had pulled back from her forehead with the 
hooded shawl, and as they stood beside each other under 
the shadowing trees, her face, with its high cheek bones 
and peculiar brow revealed, was a counterpart of his own, 
except that his was darker and more seamed, and his coarse 
hair was combed forward in two short ringlets against his 
swart cheeks. 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 


161 


“Miriam!” said he. “Pm glad you came, girl, for I’m 
oil to-morrow. You’re ageing.” 

“Naturally,” said the woman, “and why would I not, 
with work, and pain, and years over my head since last we 
met. What’s your hurry away? I only heard to-day that 
you had come.” 

“I was going to see you, on my way out, after I’d been 
to Halfway. I saved a trinket or two of my wares to he 
selling you if idle folk were looking on. Thought I’d like 
to get a peep at the little one you took — Have you got 
her yet? She must he quite a girl since I was here last.” 

“0, she’s no special to look at,” said the woman; “just a 
girl, same as others, hut she’s been a good one to me, this 
far along. Better for you not to come around, I guess, 
for up to now, as far as I know, there’s nobody around ever 
thought I belonged to the tribe. He never wanted it let out, 
when he was living ; wasn’t ashamed of us, for he had a strain 
of it himself, hut he was that still kind, and never talked of 
his own affairs. I calculated I’d get down two or three times 
while you was here. What makes you stay so short a while ?” 

“There’s nothing to keep me longer, when I’ve seen you 
and the Squire. The grove is no camping place now, it’s 
thin and draughty, and the spring’s all dried away; we 
always used to think it was almost as deep as Halfway one. 
What’s happened it, I wonder? I’ve been over again and 
again to it hut it’s as dry as a hone ; two matches would burn 
it up. Is Halfway one bubbling yet ?” 

“Don’t ask me about Halfway! I washed there to-day, 
and the food and drink near choked me. I’d a reason for 
going or I wouldn’t a gone. I could see her , there, though, 
all the time I worked, and her child.” 

“What was it set her face toward Halfway, always? 
She was never happy with us, once she tasted the life 
up there.” 

“ ’Twas her name, first of all, called after the mistress; 
and all their petting of her every time we staked here. 


162 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Don’t you remember how she’d answer to none hut the full 
name ? A Polly or a Mag was a good enough call for the rest 
of us, but she’d have her whole or none. And in time it 
turned her toward their ways. When I’d be buying a shawl, 
or beads, or mayhap a red or yellow skirt, she’d have a 
hat, with a flower on it, and some of those fadey pinks or 
blues that gentle-folks wear. And when they asked her to 
stay and help nurse the mistress she was named for, she was 
happy as a bird, with no regret to see us start away on our 
year’s trail — nor shed no tears for us when later on the old 
man took it into his head to marry her and forbade us the 
beech-grove. But it’s not her I worry over, for she got what 
she hankered after. It’s her baby girl I can’t get over mourn- 
ing about, and it’s her I hate Garret Wisdom for. To turn 
her away from her lawful home, back on the road with us, 
when all her habits born and bred were gentlefolks’ ! It broke 
her heart, little thing though she was then, and she was never 
content amongst us. That’s why she ran away from us. Jem, 
in your wanderings, all the years since, did you never hear 
aught of her and how she met her death ?” 

The woman was in the shadow, and she watched sharply 
the old man’s features as she asked the sudden question. 
His face was in the moon’s path and showed clear, but no 
expression of surprise showed upon his countenance, nor 
furtive glance of aught concealed, in the eyes he raised to 
answer. 

“Never a word,” said he, “save that in time she mar- 
ried a good enough fellow, though not one of us.” 

“Would you think she might have left any child be- 
hind her?” 

“I know no more than you,” he answered, “she might 
not even be dead, for I only got the word round about, 
though I’d take it that if she was living she’d ha’ sought 
some of us out by now. In the long run a gipsy never goes 
back on his race, and few of them leave their people for 
good as she and you did.” 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 


163 


The woman’s worn dark face flushed. “My leaving was 
different from hers, and you know that, Jem. My man had 
our blood in his veins though he didn’t tell it around. And 
I had no finer layout in the first years, than I did with you 
all in the vans. We lived aboard the scow that he ran down 
shore, moving small lumber and poling meadow hay, till 
we had something laid by to build the little schooner. But 
the wreck of that cost him his earnings and his senses, and 
we’d only enough left to put together the small place we 
built, borrowing from the Postmaster to buy the bit of land 
it sets on. I didn’t want to come back here, myself, but he 
set his heart upon it ; and a little wit or none, it’s hard to turn 
a man from his will. Anyhow it’s no use trying to cheat 
ourselves out of what’s to come to us, you know that; 
wherever we go, what’s coming to us will follow us. So I 
made no more fuss, and cared for him well till he died. 
For all I know nobody around puts me down for what I am, 
unless it’s Phoebe Shields, I mistrust she’s wise about it, 
though she’s never said aught to me. If she’s not, then it’s 
the only thing she doesn’t know, around these parts.” 

“Phoebe hasn’t ever married, then, I take it, if her name 
is still Shields. Kemember how she used to ride the ponies 
when she wasn’t knee high to me? We taught her the 
whisper that ’ud make them run, and she’d stand tip-toe 
to their ears to say it, and hang on after lots of the boys ’ud 
drop off — all kinds of courage she had. She was a young 
un when us all was grown up. I’d think she’d ha’ ben a 
good sort.” 

“She is, but she rubs me the wrong way, somehow, doesn’t 
stroke from head to tail. She runs most of the houses here- 
about. I couldn’t wash the woollens at Halfway to-day but 
she comes to spy out how I was doing it, and so I left with 
the day only three-quarters worked out, but Mrs. Wisdom 
paid full price, with fresh butter and eggs beside, for our 
breakfast, and a pot of jam too. She’s got a full pocket but 
she gives out of it with both hands, I’ll say that for her, 


164 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


though IVe no love for anybody who calls Halfway ‘home.’ 
And Jem, IVe brought it to you, and a loaf beside that I 
walked away home to get, of my own baking,” said she draw- 
ing a basket from under her shawl. 

“Take it, basket and all. WeVe got enough at home, 
and I’d like to think of you having them fresh and good. 
There’s a new kerchief too, and a couple of pairs of socks 
that were my man’s, never worn, and why should I keep them 
longer when they’d do you a good turn in the winter that’s 
coming.” 

“I’ll take them glad, and thank you,” said he, reaching 
across for the basket. “I’d never anything against your man, 
for he treated you well I’ve always heard; and as for some 
of it being Halfway stuff, I’ve no objection to that either; 
fresh butter and eggs sounds good to me, girl, even if it does 
come from the Squire’s providing. I haven’t the hatred 
you have for them, though I’ve no love.” 

“You’re a man, and wouldn’t feel it as I did, anyway, 
and then she was only cousin to you, and sister to me, so 
I’m the one to hold it. He’s wanted my land ever since 
he came back to Halfway, because it was in the old holdings, 
offered me a big price too, but he’ll never have it from my 
hands. I took all my savings and the little that was on my 
man’s life, and paid off the Postmaster, so it would be mine 
outright. That’s why I have to wash and work for my living 
as I do of late.” 

“But the girl you took must be a help by now, or is she a 
no good sort and a stone about your neck ?” 

Quick the woman peered out to watch him, as he said it. 
But it was apparently only a careless remark, and she leaned 
back again against the tree when she answered. “The girl 
is half lame, and frail, but as smart with her head as they 
make them. She took all the schooling that can be got here, 
in half-days, and can read and talk like a school mistress 
herself. I don’t know what I’d have done without her for 
company all these years. I’m getting on, Jem, you were 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 


165 


right when you said I was ageing, though no woman likes 
to he told it, truth or not. I pass terrible nights, and in 
some one of the had spells I’ll go off, I know that. Jem, if 
you’ve a dish handy give me a helping of the savoury. The 
smell of it takes me hack to the old life. It was long days 
ago, long days, and you and I are getting pretty near the end 
of the lane, Jem.” 

“Yes, I think of it myself, often, o’ late years, since I’m 
alone, and I go over the old times we used to pass in caravan 
and camp when we were a crowd of us. When you came up 
I was thinking hack how Mammy would tie a coat ’tween 
two trees, pin us up ’twixt tail and collar, and swing us 
asleep. Can you hark hack to the tune o’ it — I couldn’t get 
it for a long spell, but some of it’s come to me, broken like. 

“Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 

“ Stand decked in living green — 

“And J ordan rolls between ” 

“A camp meeting ditty she got hold of somewhere. It just 
used to rock us off — the Jordan rolling between. Did you 
ever keep it in mind, Miriam ?” 

“I hadn’t, it had all gone from me, but I’ll be hearing 
it from now on, and maybe it’ll help me through the spells.” 

“The Postmaster, he said I was looking old, myself. He’s 
the only one I dropped in to see around the Comer, just as 
he was winding up for night, and he hopped up on my old 
waggon beside me and let me drive him home. See what 
he give me, I never had the like in all my life!” and he 
pulled from inside his blue shirt a new crisp ten dollar bill. 

“Jem ! All that much money ! And he gave it to you out- 
right !” 

“You didn’t think I pinched him for it, did you? If 
it had a’ been the other old cove, up at Halfway, it wouldn’t 


166 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


have been a crime maybe, but I’ve another and a better way 
o’ getting it out o’ him ! 

“ I hope you do. But the Postmaster he’s one of God’s 
men, if such folks be.” 

“Yes, he’s all right, and he seems to think by what he tried 
to preach to me, that all of us is God’s men ; but if it’s true, 
there’s an awful grist of us hasn’t been told it, and have 
thought we was cut out by another pattern. I’ve never trou- 
bled about such things, much, because all I can do mostly is 
to keep each day a-going; but along lately, especially nights 
like this when I’m dead fagged out, I don’t know but I’d like 
to believe I could creep in under cover o’ the Big Tent, at 
the end.” 

“Why don’t you go back to some of the boys, where it 
would be warmer, and easier living, with winter coming 
on ? Some of them would give you a keeping free enough.” 

“I’m thinking of that, but they’re working at trades now, 
and not living as I’ve always done, and I’d smother to be 
shut up in a house day and night, after the open sky and the 
long trail. I’ll get on all right. Garret Wisdom ’ill give 
me enough to keep me on Easy-Street for a spell. I’m to 
see him as I go off to-morrow. What would he do if he knew 
it was a gipsy who was keeping him from buying your 
place ? He hates the whole of the tribe.” 

“He couldn’t do worse than he has done. I got a sight of 
him to-day through a window and nobody any the wiser. 
He was sitting before a hearth fire, this hot day, drinking, 
dipper after dipper of water. I never saw the like of the 
quantity he took down him. Handsome as a clock he is, too, 
outside ; it’s inside he’s ugly, brimming up with bad temper 
and avarice, and maybe remorse for sending that little one off 
from the home where she was born. I hear the Thirst’ is 
so heavy upon him that he well-nigh loses his reason if the 
water’s not to hand all the time. I wanted to ask you about 
that, J em, I’ve been so long away from my people. Do you 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 167 

recollect what first started it all, and how the curse ran — 
there’s a rhyme or some such thing about it.” 

“Sons’ sons and daughters’ sons — 

But son’s son shall end it — " 

repeated the old man. “I don’t know as I can tell you much 
about it myself, old Mammy knew the whole story. I guess 
one of the family, way hack in war times in the States got 
mad at a hunch of us and wouldn’t give a drink to a dying 
man, and old Mag, you’ve heard Mammy tell how she was a 
kind of a Queen among us, well she put the ‘curse’ on them, 
vine and branch, wherever they’d he, that the men of the 
race should never get enough to drink, always he craving it, 
and dying terrible deaths from lack of it in deserts, and 
fevers and wars and that like. I’m glad it’s struck him hard. 
Beckon that’s what brought the first lot of us away down here 
when the Wisdoms first settled — we lay out to follow them up 
to see how it works out.” 

“But did you never hear of their women-folk having it ?” 
asked his companion eagerly. 

“They wasn’t included at the start. I’ve heard, though, of 
some of their women folk being touched with it, hut I’d think 
that was mostly because they’d heard about it and kind of fell 
to the habit unconscious like. They don’t need to have it, for 
the curse was only on their men.” 

“I wonder what it means about ‘ending’ it. Hope it 
doesn’t end as long as Garret lives.” 

“There’s not many of the sons’ sons left, around here, near 
as I can reckon, hut there was a likely fellow of them to see 
me to-day, the Hardscrabble lot, working up at Halfway he 
tells me. He’s no fool, and he’s going to get on in the world 
in spite of his Hardscrabble luck. He’d only known of the 
thirst awhile hack, and he asked me about it, for it’s be- 
ginning to get a hold on him. I told him to forget it and 
cut it out if he could, and I gave him a charm that maybe’ll 


168 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


help. He laughed, hut he didn’t mock at it. I’d hate to 
see him hounded by it, for I took a great liking to him — 
head as red and bushy as old J ock’s was, his grandfather — 
an old man when I was a youngster. His thirst went to rum, 
and took him off, at last.” 

There fell a silence in the beech-wood. The flickering 
flames were dying down in the small fire, their blue smoke 
scarce perceptible. The slender moon and its attendant star 
dropping toward the horizon down the lane’s clearing, as 
though the pathway clove the heavens, above the tracery of the 
tree-tops. 

“Well,” said the woman, rising from where she had been 
seated to eat her savoury mess. “I must go on, night is upon 
us. I don’t know when I’ve walked as much as I have to-day, 
and I’m all in. I’d a trip to the grave yard beside all else, 
finishing up a job I’d on hand there. The Wisdoms are going 
to get a jolt next time they go burying again. I hope Gar- 
ret sees it before he’s under the sod himself. Good night, 
Jem. Perhaps you better not call round, now that I’ve seen 
you. It’s done me good though, to talk with you, and I hope 
you get into snug quarters before snow flies. A gipsy can 
always find a corner to settle in. Good-bye. Kushto bak” 
And she was gone from out the beech-grove, so sparse and 
open now to what its sheltering canopy had been in the old 
days. 

The dogs that followed her quietly to the road came as 
quietly back, sniffing at the empty dish upon the ground 
that she had been eating from. The old man poured some of 
the pot’s contents within and set it out for them, closing the 
lid tight again that it might still simmer in its heat ; covered 
carefully the fire that some warmth of ashes or perhaps 
ember and brand might be left for the morn’s resuscitation. 
And hearing the pony still cropping safely near, he clam- 
bered up into the waggon, settled baskets and boxes, spread 
his canvas bags of straw for pallet and pillow, and lay down 
to rest. The van with its faded red roof was straight in 


A GIPSY’S ENCAMPMENT 


169 


the broad lane’s track down which the moon was still passing 
in stately procession with its glowing star, their lights efful- 
gent full upon his old tired face. And he watched them, till 
they dropped from sight, night’s soft enveloping darkness 
falling upon the beech grove. Then his old seamed face took 
on a child’s guise ; the coarse ringlets upon his swart cheeks 
seemed silken tendrils that a mother would kiss as she tied 
him in his cradle coat to swing betwen the saplings. 

“Sweet fields beyond the 

“Stand decked ” 

He had forgotten some of the words again, hut he knew the 
beat of the rhythm — 

“While J ordan rolls between — 

“While between 

And so till the weary brain registered nor word nor beat to 
his heart’s longing, his Mammy rocked him asleep as of old. 


CHAPTER XVI 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOED 

W HEX Jane, the Skipper, reached her Cabin home that 
evening Lisbeth was already a-bed in her berth like 
bunk, but was not yet asleep. Spread upon the table shelf 
was an appetizing looking meal, and the kettle was steaming 
upon the stove. 

“Looks homey and good,” she remarked, closing and bolt- 
ing the cabin door. “But I don’t know as you should have 
burned up wood to keep a fire all this time. It takes a deal 
of it the year through, having the house running just the 
same while I’m away.” 

It was not at all what she would have said, had she stopped 
to think, but worn out with her work and the two long tramps, 
and all unstrung with this and the interview with Jem ; be- 
sides, she had slipped her weariness and her worries over onto 
the first thing that suggested additional anxiety. 

Lisbeth burst into tears. She also had been strained and 
overwrought, with her own day’s doings and with waiting 
so long for Jane’s return. “That’s all I am to you, I know,” 
she said, “just an expense and a care. But I haven’t got 
anywhere else to go, and nobody else to love, and she, Joan, 
has got so many people ! I can go out to work, though, Mir- 
iam. I’m big enough for that now, and I should have thought 
of it long before.” 

But the woman cut her short “Hush,” said she, conscience 
stricken to see the effect of her hasty and not really ill meant 
words. “I didn’t stop to think how it would sound. What’s 
a few sticks of wood compared to the company that you’ve 
been to me all these years ! And how would I ever have been 

170 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOND 


171 


able to keep up my work if I didn’t know there would be a fire 
humming and a hot dish of tea waiting me when I got back.” 
And then suddenly she dropped down beside the bunk and 
lifting the girl’s head from the pillow strained her close 
against her hard worn face. “Poor dear little thing,” she 
murmured half to herself, “poor dear little thing. Dry up 
your tears and forget I said it.” 

“I’ve forgotten it already,” said Lisbeth, smiles chasing 
the tears. “And it’s worth it, anyway, to get such a good hug 
as that. O, Miriam, I want to tell you all about to-day — 
and I’m going to get up and . pour you your tea.” 

“No, stay where you be. I’ll have what I want to eat 
bye and bye, when I’m rested a bit. I’m too fagged for it 
now. Is it your leg ailing again ?” noting the tired look on 
the girl’s face and the updrawn knee that betokened a seek- 
ing for easy posture. “Too long a walk it was for you. I 
felt that, but you would hear nothing against it. We must 
get some more liniment, and go see the doctor now, instead 
of waiting to earn the money first. It’s maybe getting worse 
all the while and past help. We’ll go tomorrow, Lisbeth. 
I know a chance we can get for going down, and we’ll risk 
one coming back. Then sometime we’ll get to see that one 
you remember at the Poorhouse; knowing you when you 
was little he’ll maybe be better able to sense what’s the real 
trouble. You haven’t forgot his name, have you? It always 
leaves me just when I want to say it.” 

“0, no, I’m sure I’ll always know it, and anyway, I wrote 
it down for you, don’t you remember, and you put the paper 
in your chest.” 

“So I did. I’d forgot that too. Never let anybody but 
yourself and Miss Orin touch the chest, Lisbeth, if aught 
should happen to me. There’s nothing worth while inside, 
but I’ve always had it and I don’t want strangers mocking 
over the little keepsakes and notions I’ve saved up. My, 
that’s a good sup of tea,” she said, pouring out a cupful 


172 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


from the pot upon the hearth. “There’s nothing like it for 
cheer and comfort. I’ll take the food later on.” 

“And now I’ll tell you about to-day.” 

“No, not now, the morning will do, for I’m that fagged 
I couldn’t properly enjoy it, and then your telling will be 
spoiled. We’ve all to-morrow ahead. I’ll just turn in awhile 
without undressing and you can keep the first watch. Then 
I’ll roll out and get off my clothes and have a good long sleep, 
a late one too, and you can he all hands on deck in the morn- 
ing,” said she, in light tone, to offset the disappointment up- 
on the young face, and her own weariness as well. 

“0 Miriam, I love to hear you talk like that,” said Lis- 
beth, the disappointed look vanishing. “It seems like a real 
vessel now, and the wind’s coming up, so we’ll pretend we’re 
truly off on a cruise. Who’ll we have on the look-out, when 
we both get asleep ? Would we have the Lord, Miriam ?” 

“I don’t know much about Him,” said the woman, wearily, 
“except that He made me, and likes us all to walk a straight 
path and keep the laws of stone, as your Granny Squires 
called them. I don’t know though as He’d be free to bother 
being on the look-out for such as us. He’s bigger affairs 
and finer folks to be taking heed of. I never heard you say 
aught about it before, and we’ve had the cabin nigh shake 
off its rocks many a night. Who put that notion into your 
head?” 

“It’s Joan, she talks about Him, and she prays to Him 
every night to watch her. Somebody she calls Polly Ann told 
her how, when she was just a weenty-teenty, and she hasn’t 
ever forgotten one single night, because before she came here 
she hadn’t anybody really her own to look after her and so 
she had to have somebody to care, she says, or dear knows 
what would have become of her. And I thought that it would 
be nice to have some one on the look-out for us too, not only 
in the pretending that we are on a vessel, but for always, 
Miriam. I should think that’s what He’d be for, people 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOND 173 

like us. Joan is so beautiful, and she thinks of the nicest 
things to do.” 

“As for being beautiful, I know a girl that suits me far 
better than she does, looks and everything. But somebody 
needs to pray to Him up at Halfway, that’s sure. And 
maybe it might be good for us too, so you can ask Him if 
you want to and know how, for the wind is beginning to 
whistle around and does sound lonesome. Good-night.” But 
as she passed Lisbeth’s bunk on her way to her own she saw 
upon the locker beside it a cup of water. “We’re going to 
cut that right out, from now on,” said she sharply, emptying 
its contents and hanging the cup upon a hook. “I want you 
to promise me that you’ll stop it.” 

“I’ll promise if you say so, but 0, I’ll be so thirsty if it’s 
not there ! and you did it for me yourself, Miriam, first, and 
I’ve got so used to it now that I don’t know whether I could 
go to sleep without it. I only got it, to-night, because you 
were so late, and I thought I was getting too old, anyway, for 
you to be waiting on me, and that I could do it myself, after 
this.” 

“We won’t get it at all, either of us. It’s a bad habit to 
be fastened upon you.” 

“Joan does it. She takes it upstairs herself, and Mr. 
Wisdom has a whole jug filled every night, close to his bed, 
and he drinks it every drop, Joan says. She has to fetch 
and carry it up from the spring, ever so many times a day, 
and she says that Mrs. Wisdom told her all his family were 
thirsty people. What makes them be that way, Miriam ?” 

The woman’s face darkened with an unspoken thought. 
“He maybe can’t escape his,” said she, “but you’ve no call 
to feel it, no matter what that other girl does. It’s just grow- 
ing into a habit with you and the more you drink, the more 
you want to, water or what not. Now go to sleep and forget 
all about it. And since we’re both rather strung up we’ll have 
a lay in for once, good and late. Remember now, not to get 
astir early. I don’t know when I’ve been so dead beat out.” 


174 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


So, inside the small cabin, while the wind whistled with- 
out, and the look-out watch kept the hours, the two slept — 
the woman’s last thought as she turned over the day’s events, 
that Garret Wisdom should not know what she knew — not 
for awhile at least , till she could study out the best move. 

Long before the mail carriers had gathered next day, there 
was most unexpected news brought to the office. Jane, the 
Skipper, had been found dead in her bunk-like bed, by Lis- 
beth, when she went to wake her, dressed as she had crawled 
in so weary the night before, not rousing as she had thought 
to, for disrobing, but sleeping on, deeply, till sometime in the 
hours her soul had fled the clay. Blessed was it for Jane 
that they had set up a look-out watch that night, One who 
would not suffer the escaping soul to be lost — since, simple 
creed though it was, she had recognized that her Maker 
was God and that He likes us all to walk in a straight path 
and keep His laws. 

It caused great excitement in the small Settlement. On 
every hand the kindly people proffered aid and comfort to 
the girl thus suddenly bereaved, offering her shelter under 
their own roof -tree ; not knowing until informed by Lisbeth 
herself, that according to the dead woman’s desires and plans, 
she was to close the small cabin and take up her abode with 
Or in and Amsey Wisdom, until she should be of age and 
free to choose her own abiding place. 

Before this piece of news was an hour old, a second death 
was announced. The hobbled pony of the gipsy, cropping 
away on his long pasture, had strayed two or more miles be- 
yond the beechwood. Some boys from down the river, on 
their way from school, hearing its whinnying call, recognised 
it, and leading it back to tie it to the van, found within the 
waggon the still and prostrate form of old Jem, rigid in 
death. No trace of violence was upon his person, nor track 
of intruder within the grove. The waggon’s contents had 
not been disturbed; in his pockets was some small change; 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOND 175 

and upon his breast inside his old blue shirt was spread a 
crisp ten dollar bank note. 

Captain Nat was Coroner for the District, and he stopped 
at the office on his way back from the grove where he had 
held the inquest, relating all the particulars of the findings. 

“Looked for all the world like a baby asleep in his crib/’ 
said he, “kind of a smile on his face and his old hands tucked 
up under his chin — you couldn’t have made up a truer ver- 
dict than the one we gave him: ‘died a natural death;’ and 
it seems a pity so many of us have to go in any other way.” 

“That’s exactly my opinion,” said Silas. “People make 
such an outcry about a death like that, when to my mind 
it was the way God and Nature intended — just like the leaves 
dropping off when they’re good and ripe. We’ve got so kind 
of used to disease and horrors carrying us away, that we 
think it’s this other kind is queer. But it sure was strange 
to have two go the same way, the same day, though the doc- 
tor said in Jane’s case it was her heart, and a wonder she 
hadn’t gone in some of the other spells she had. She had 
talked to him about them only a little while ago. Kind of 
strangers too, they both were, amongst us, no kin with any- 
body around.” 

“Now we’ll have to have a third, I suppose,” interposed 
Samuel. “Always three deaths, and three fires, in a run. 
Wonder who’ll it be. I’ve always seen it come out that way. 
And old Seaforth had a tenner on him, did he? That’s 
strange too,” in a ruminating tone and a look askance at 
Alexander. “He only has small wares left to sell these days, 
no horse bargains like he used to make profit on. Wonder 
who he held up for that ten.” 

And the Postmaster, to clear the dead name of dishonour, 
was forced to confess his bestowal of the same. “Since he 
can’t get back to speak out for himself,” said he, “that’s the 
only reason I’m telling, though I’m not ashamed of it.” 
And the smile that went round among them in the office was 
a smile of understanding comradeship and approbation, for 


176 


JOAH AT HALFWAY 


one way and another a good many of the Postmaster’s “ten- 
ners” were scattered about in the course of every year, usu- 
ally to somebody whom no one else would help. 

“That’s the solemn part of a sudden death,” said Silas, 
“that we can’t even get back to square ourselves with the 
world, have to die on our past record, and no changing or 
righting it.” 

“Hattie’s the only one who ever had that chance,” said 
Samuel. “Remember that time the notice of his death was 
in the papers — what did you think, when you read it, Hat?” 

“I knew ’twas a lie the minute I saw it,” averred Captain 
Hat, solemnly, and in the hearty guffaw that followed, he 
made his departure. “Have to see the doctor again,” said 
he, “and drive way to the mines for him where he’s on a 
case. See you to-morrow, Alec, suppose between us we’ll 
have to arrange about the burying. Every parson on the 
circuit’s off on vacation, or something or other, so you may 
have to read the service over him yourself. Good-day, 
hoys.” 

“What a silly you are,” said Louisa the next evening, 
bustling around to spread for Alexander a much belated sup- 
per. “I heard about it, giving him all that money, and then 
having it buried with him! What a silly!” but the tone of 
the words had a caressing sound that stole away their sharp- 
ness, and Alexander was not hurt. 

“Well, would you rather have me a knave or a fool?” 

“Seems like trying to buy his way in, as if you thought 
money would do what he 'didn’t do for himself!” said she. 

“0, there’s many a worse than Jem has got by Peter at 
the Gate without a ten dollar bill, Louisa; ‘whosoever will 
may come,’ even at the very last breath.” 

“I never approve that doctrine, Alexander. It’s comfort- 
ing to us frail mortals but it’s not reasonable.” 

“But you and I wouldn’t shut out one of our children 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOND 177 

from Lome at the end of his life even if he’d wandered far 
and erred.” 

“That’s specious arguing,” said Louisa, “and might do 
harm if you spread it around among easy-living folks.” 

Alexander laughed softly. “Specious,” repeated he; “spe- 
cious, where did you get that word ?” and he laughed again. 

“It’s a right enough word, isn’t it? And you notice I 
know how to use it,” quoth she with spirit. 

“I noticed,” said Alexander, peering out over his glasses 
upon her, “and I wasn’t laughing at you, but at something 
I remembered against myself. When I was first preaching I 
got up a fine sermon one day, that I had to preach before the 
President of the Conference, and it had your new word in it, 
and another of its ilk, and I was pretty proud of them both, 
for like you I had got them in in a right place. But the Presi- 
dent came to me afterwards. ‘What do you know about 
specious V said he. ‘Let the words of your mouth and the 
meditation of your heart be in plain common language, 
young man/ said he. And I was cast down about it, for a 
spell, then I concluded not to follow his orders. A Mas- 
ter of the Queen’s English himself what did he want to stunt 
me for, at the start! It was just an arrogant little way he 
had, sometimes, though a true man of God, and so I took 
my own head for it and got all the words I chose, for my 
own, but I never could make myself use that one I’d been 
called down on; and hearing you speak it, so assured, made 
me laugh, remembering. It’s a very proper word, Louisa, 
and you placed it well.” Alexander got an extra piece of 
pie for that. 

“I like it, though, that you buried them both in our lot,” 
said Louisa, “even if you didn’t ask for my consent.” 

“I counted on it, without asking, since there wasn’t oppoi v 
tunity to speak with you. I had worried considerably over it, 
all the forenoon. Plans were made to have them placed in the 
new land we’d taken over, kind of on the outskirts, you know, 
off from the rest of us, and it made me think of outer dark- 


<178 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


ness and gnashing of teeth and all that. As neither of them 
had a fair chance to say where or how they’d have liked to 
he put away, it looked like taking advantage of them to shove 
them off in the Potter’s Field, so I decided we’d plenty of 
room in our own lot for them both — only ourselves and maybe 
the two hoys to come back to it. And I’m glad I did it, no 
matter what anybody else thought of it. As for the money, 
well, that may have been a bit silly, Louisa, but it touched 
me to find it spread out on Jem’s heart under his old worn 
shirt, and I remember that when I gave it to him he said 
he’d never had one in his life before, ’twould have seemed 
like robbing him to take it away. And to fix it so he wouldn’t 
need to he buried by the parish, Louisa, I bought in his old 
pony and waggon, and there’ll be enough out of that to put up 
a stone for him, beside. A man to work all his life and then 
have to he buried by charity just because he didn’t happen to 
have enough laid by for it at the time, didn’t seem fair and 
square. I bought the whole outfit.” 

Louisa turned full upon him with a look that needed no 
interpretation of speech. 

“Yes, I did,” said he stoutly. “It’s out in the old waggon- 
house now, I towed it back with me, that’s why I waited so 
late, till after dark, so you wouldn’t see it till I had ex- 
plained.” 

“You’ll have a hurdy-gurdy and a monkey, soon, and be 
out on the open road yourself.” 

“Well, I’ve always hankered for all three, ever since I 
was a youngster, and I’m sure old enough to have them now 
if ever I’m going to he,” chuckled he. “Eh, Louisa ?” as the 
consternation faded from her sweet placid face at the boyish 
longing note in his voice. “There’s plenty of pasture for the 
old nag, and room and to spare for the van, and maybe 
we’ll have a ride in it some day. When the hoys come hack 
next leave I expect they’ll think I’ve lost my senses, but I 
did crave that old red-covered van.” 

“I’d like to see them dare to criticise your doings,” cham- 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOND 


179 


pioned she, “but they wouldn’t want to, for everything you 
do pleases them. I tell them how you scatter your money 
round — poor folks’ doctor hills paid off, a cow here and horse 
there to a man who loses one, and a boy off to college and 
so on and so on — there’ll never he any end to them. And 
they say ‘good old Dad, good old Dad,’ after every story.” 

“I’ve three of you to count on, then,” said he. “I’m glad 
the hoys don’t think I should hoard it up for them; they’re 
their mother’s hoys all right, and trained after your own 
heart and ways, Louisa.” 

“I guess you had a hand in the training.” 

“Not much. There wasn’t any need for help as far as 
ever I could hear.” 

“Well, you always acquiesced,” averred she. 

“We’ll have to get the President of the Conference after 
you, Louisa. That’s another unusual word, hut a pat one 
all right, and a hull’s eye in the placing of it. I didn’t know 
you had knowledge like that tucked away.” 

“There are a good many things tucked away that you don’t 
know of.” 

“But forty-five years together, Louisa.” 

“I knew you, out and out, the first year through,” averred 
she, “but it would take twice forty-five for a man to find 
out all that’s hid away in a woman’s head and heart, 
so you can just go right on looking for surprises, to the end, 
Alexander. And as for throwing away your money on all 
kinds of fool people, it’s your one extravagance, and you’ve a 
right to he humoured in it, I suppose, since you’re too old 
to he diverted from the error of your ways.” And then she 
turned with a sudden thought. “Who paid the funeral ex- 
penses for Jane?” 

Alexander had a trick of dropping his glasses when not 
needed for minute inspection, part way down his long nose 
where a hump kept them in safety. It was easier than hunt- 
ing round for them and putting them on for every occasion, 
hut it lent an odd appearance to his fine old face, as though 


180 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


four eyes were looking out from it. He had been beaming 
upon his spouse with bis own two, as she talked, and now at 
her sudden question winked one of them knowingly, for an- 
swer, still beaming and assured. 

“I thought as much,” said she. “A new suit throughout, 
to his skin, for old Seaforth, the best hearse and coffin, with 
a stone beside! And the same for Jane-the-Skipper, I sup- 
pose, even if she hadn’t a mule and van for sale !” 

“ You’re correct in your surmise, as per usual,”' defended 
he valiantly, “and would have done the very like your- 
self, too. As for Jane, the Skipper, I’ve a kind of legal 
right to look after her, as I fixed up her mortgage, and made 
the place over to the girl, a few years ago, so I don’t begrudge 
giving her a funeral, nor a stone later on. The girl is a true 
mourner. It’s a wonderful thing she’s got a home at the Is- 
land with Orin and Amsey. She couldn’t stay on at the 
Cabin there alone. I’ve promised her I’ll take her in to town 
next time you and I go, to see Dr. Zebra about her lame knee. 
We might be able to get her into the hospital for treatment. 
You could speak to Orin about it.” 

“Counting on me again, I see.” 

“As I always can and do, though by your speech you blow 
hot and cold sometimes to egg me on. I’ve been prospered 
more than I deserve, and it’s not for ‘keeps,’ hut to pass 
along to those who haven’t got the knack of making it them- 
selves. Stewards we are for the Giver of it all. What’s that 
old hymn, Louisa? r Since from His bounties I receive * — 
’twas father’s favorite. Remember how he’d sing it clear to 
the end, sitting before the old Franklyn, heating the time with 
his hands, upon the chair arms ? We’ll sing it at worship to- 
night. I hadn’t thought of it for quite a spell, eh, Louisa ?” 

So before they went up to their chamber that night, when 
they had read and prayed, the two voices took up the old 
refrain, all the verses through — Louisa’s high sweet treble 
and Alexander’s deep bass, their hearts singing with their 
voices, and all the deeds of their days as well — 


SWEET FIELDS BEYOND 


181 


“Since from His bounties I receive 
Such gifts of love divine 
Had I a thousand hearts to give 
Lord , they shall all be Thine, 

Lord, they shall all be Thine.” 

But later on when their heads were upon their pillows, 
and the steady stentorious breathing arising therefrom be- 
tokened that the placid Louisa was not only past the border- 
lands of slumber but well-nigh into the interior of that 
delectable bourne, Alexander by a solid nudge summoned 
her back to earth and its problems. 

“I’ve been thinking over about old Jem, and Jane and 
that girl of hers,” said he musingly, “and Fm wondering if 
I’d better tell you something that Nat and I are ferreting out, 
but of course you wouldn’t speak of it to anybody ” 

“If it’s the kind of a secret that I’m to keep to myself, 
then don’t tell me,” said she, “for I’m chuck full now of 
that sort; everybody tells me their troubles, and why they 
think I won’t let them out again I’m sure I don’t know. 
The fusses I could make if I told their tales back to the peo- 
ple concerned !” 

“0, well, this one will keep awhile. It’s not a real fact 
yet, anyway. I was just turning it over and surmising 
about it.” 

“And wasting half your night’s sleep over it ! I took you 
for better or for worse, but if I had known before hand that 
way you have of pondering over things, and talking at night 
time, I never would have Took’ you at all !” 

“You know you would have me, Louisa, bad habits or 
good!” 

“Would have you!” with a sniff unmistakable, though 
muffled somewhat by the pillow ; for Louisa had turned over 
upon it again and was already approaching her slumberland. 
“Would have you! Well, that’s the worst yet!” 


182 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“I’ll go down first chance I can get off, and talk it over 
with Orin, she’s a wonderfully wise woman.” 

“Far too wise to ever marry, either way you take it. She’d 
have set you up on a stool with a dunce-cap on three times 
a day, instead of you having the say in everything as you 
do now.” This not with acrimony, but drowsily, for untram- 
melled by an extra secret and its disturbing thought, Louisa 
could make fleet progress toward her desired haven. “We’ll 
be as stupid as owls in the morning, and I’ve muffins set for 
breakfast, the kind you like, Alexander. So, go to sleep — 
Silly,” said she. 

The casual remark about the muffins was a husher, and 
Alexander smiling tenderly in the dark at her shrewdness 
did not further detain her, for if they two should be late 
in their waking up, those muffins would be set aside till 
dinner time. Alexander knew it, and he did love those 
crispy golden popovers with his morning coffee, — which 
proved that Louisa in her own way was as wise as Orin, and 
that she truly, as she had before-time averred, knew Alexan- 
der out and out. 

So Alexander pondered no further, and himself fell asleep. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE GAY CAE OF PLEASTTEE 

L IFE in a community does not cling long round memories 
of death in its midst, whether those taken are prominent 
in affairs or lowly of station. Often close upon the heels 
of the funeral equipage follows the gay car of Pleasure, a 
seeming disregard but arising in truth from the emotions 
born of death’s passing, as though to say “who knows when 
our turn will come, let us happy be, and while we may enjoy 
enjoy to-day, for the hour cometh when no man shall work — 
nor play.” 

So the thin church-yard grass about the two new graves 
in Alexander’s lot had not yet risen again from its trampling, 
when Aunt Hetty, apprehensive that something might occur 
to frustrate her own long cherished desire if further post- 
poned, made known to J oan that the party was to come off, 
that her list was made out, and the day thereof set. 

It was to be none of your hastily gotten up affairs, sum- 
moned of a mom or a midday of the “soiree” itself, with other 
calls to bakers and fruiterers or a caterer in lieu of either, 
with scarce a flutter of preparation or expectation; but the 
good old-fashioned kind of a party where a full week’s pre- 
liminaries preceded even the invitations, and another fol- 
lowed after the summoning; where nothing could be “or- 
dered” but staples, and all else must be manufactured or con- 
cocted within the house whence you were bidden. 

Joan felt nigh to bursting with the sheer joy of anticipa- 
tion, her one and only fly in the precious ointment (and there 
always is that one at least, no matter how well strained or 
stirred the unguent, for even the “apostle-preparation” hints 

183 


184 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


by its name at the Judas within), the sole disturber of her 
peace being that she had been forbidden to go again to the 
lovely Island home. 

Quite unconcernedly, far as outward donned indifference 
was concerned, she had gone direct to the wing rooms on her 
return that day, and told the story of her going thither — a 
straightforward tale that withheld nothing. Uncle Garret 
could see that, accustomed as he was to detecting snags and 
vulnerable points in an opponent’s argument. He heard it 
through, without comment, so that the culprit feeling some- 
what sustained thereat in her misdemeanour, even ventured 
upon the simple request at its close that she might be allowed 
to visit there again as often as she liked. 

There was no equivocation whatever in his answer and he 
said it in few words, then dismissed her from his presence, 
for the time being. She was not to go again to the Island ; 
nor to hold communication with them ; not even to speak of 
them again to him until such time as he might himself see fit. 
The previous mandate had been more in the nature of instruc- 
tion and admonition. This present utterance was a com- 
mand, and Joan felt its force. But it was a hard injunction 
to be bound by, for the Island inmates now included Lisbeth 
as well as the beloved Uncle and Aunt, and Lisbeth was the 
only girl she knew in all the Settlement. 

Whether or not Uncle Garret was aware of Lisbeth’ s pres- 
ence there, Joan did not know, nor did she ask, since his 
dictum precluded questioning. But Uncle Garret knew it as- 
suredly. What was the use of having “ears all down your 
neck” if you couldn’t hear a simple piece of news like that ! 
And it was really the main motive for alteration of his for- 
mer decree — that, and the fact that she had actually dared 
go against his expressed wish. For why should he allow 
his adopted daughter to visit with a poorhouse chit such as 
Lisbeth was ! He knew how to draw the proper line, as the 
Island folk never had! And arms interlocked, as he had 
noted when the girl was at Halfway that day — it must never 


THE GAY CAE OF PLEASUEE 


185 


happen again! A bold girl she would he, doubtless, with 
those red cheeks. And then he remembered the black 
shadowy eyes and their deep look into his own as she stood 
in the doorway. It gave him a disquieting thought. And 
he made a memo upon a bit of paper and tucked it within a 
drawer of his desk, reaching down presently into a little 
cabinet part and lifting up one after the other a pile of old 
pictures within, but evidently not finding what he sought, 
closing and locking it again ! 

All this, while Joan went to the spring for his fresh 
water. She would come hack sulky, he supposed, still she 
must he taught to obey him, and to discriminate properly as 
to her position and companions. But Joan had it all thought 
out when she returned, and no tone nor expression was 
marred by resentment. Down deep within her was some- 
thing that was like the spring itself, a “never say die” spirit, 
its source hack in the well-spring of all her ancestors, the 
Island as well as the Halfway branch. A fount of never- 
ending strength and refreshment it would he to her as the 
years went on. Just now she drew from out it, though un- 
conscious of its existence, remembering what Pelig had said 
“that there was always a way to get around things — ” that 
it was true, too, for hadn’t there come a way, without her 
even guessing it, for her to get to the Island the first time! 
“And I’ll bet you there’ll he another !” said she, though there 
wasn’t a soul in sight to take it up. “I’ll wait till after the 
party, but I can’t wait much longer, for I’ve just got to see 
those darling people again!” 

So thoughts of the party took the edge off her troubled 
disappointment, and instead of sulking she returned with the 
water in good spirits, really rather glad of the dismissal from 
immediate attendance in the wing rooms, because it gave her 
a chance to seek out Aunt Hetty to question her about the 
approaching festivity. 

O, what a week it was at Halfway, even though things 
had to be done surreptitiously lest the gruff master should 


186 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


get knowledge of it and not only refuse to be host but forbid 
the guests as well. He would be equal to both, uncivil 
though it might be, and nobody knew it better than Aunt 
Hetty herself whose special party it was, the long desire 
of her heart ever since she had entered the great doors and 
become mistress under its broad roof. But Aunt Hetty’s 
“Providence” that had helped her through so many difficul- 
ties, even to schooling her as how properly to manage hus- 
bands by giving her three, when most wives have to stumble 
along and fail in finesse with one, the “Providence” which to 
Aunt Hetty did not presume upon attributes of Deity but was 
rather a kind of luck or opportunity of which you could speak 
glibly as of a mortal, this special mystery of “opportunity” 
formed a chain of fortunate circumstances in her favour, 
clear through ; though there were undoubtedly dark moments 
also when all seemed lost. 

One of these darkest was the problem of help, now that 
Jane the Skipper was no more. Not even Lisbeth’s services 
could be secured, since it would be scarcely becoming nor 
decent so soon after Jane’s death. Moreover she was now an 
inmate of the Island, and reckoned with the others of that 
ilk, beyond the Halfway pale. How Aunt Hetty did long 
to have Or in and Amsey among her guests. The injustice 
of their banishment and the unreasonableness of it all, she 
had no sympathy with, but the will that decreed it was so 
inexorable, that she had not been moved as yet to put in an 
intruding hand. When she had met either of them out any- 
where, she held conversation with them as with others, but 
avoided personalities, giving no account of the meeting to 
her liege lord ; but more and more as the years went on did 
she desire to visit at the Island, and to have friendly com- 
munication with them. Twice had she turned her horse’s 
head down that winding road when out on her visiting jaunts, 
but turned it back again each time ; for every one of us has 
his “limit,” and Aunt Hetty wisely felt that the Island folk 
and the Island feud was hers. 


THE GAY CAR, OF PLEASUKE 


187 


J ane and Lisbeth counted out for help, there remained hut 
the woman at the gate, who chored and scrubbed for Half- 
way and the farm hands. She could do quite a bit besides, 
under instruction, but it needed somebody else, and Phoebe 
was to all present intent not available, since she had openly 
affirmed the same on the very first mention of it weeks ago, 
with a toss of her head, too, that betokened conflict, like the 
horns of a bull — only Aunt Hetty discreetly withdrew just 
then and the conflict really never come to words. 

Those retirements of Aunt Hetty’s often saved the situa- 
tion. If you were so minded to see things distortedly you 
might call it retreating, but she never did, herself, nor could 
there be disorder nor rout observed. And in the case with 
Phoebe concerning the projected entertaining, the wisdom of 
the little Aunt’s method of going before you really had to, 
vindicated itself, amply ; for to have thrashed it out, then and 
there, might have settled it irrevocably, against Aunt Hetty, 
while as it was now, she was able to fight another day. So 
after considering quite a time about it, over her patchwork, 
she despatched to Phoebe a little missive, written upon her 
very finest note paper, and elegantly composed. 

“Deae Phoebe,” [it ran,] 

“I am having our small party come off next week, on 
Tuesday at six, and we will of course expect your presence 
on the occasion. If you will let me have the loan of those 
slender spoons of your grandmother’s, I would be greatly 
obliged, as they would be very proper and convenient for a 
delicacy I wish to serve, the concoction of which I learned 
on my last visit to town. Haturally I feel the affair quite 
an undertaking, being so long out of the way of entertain- 
ing, though in my first husband’s time we were quite gay 
folk, being young ; and even in my second’s, licensed preacher 
though he was, I kept my hand in with sojourning Bishops 
and the like ; and I trust it has not lost its art. But if you 
are not called elsewhere I would take it a favour that you 


188 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


drop over within the week, so I can talk ont with you the 
plans; for being so interested in all that pertains to Half- 
way, you will, as well as I, want our soiree to be a success. 

“Ever truly yours, 

“Hetty Wisdom. 

“P. S. It is hardly necessary to explain to you that I 
have not as yet consulted Garret. Indisposed as he is, the 
undue excitement necessary might over-aggravate his condi- 
tion, though I should not anticipate any objections or ob- 
struction since the guests are all his own kindred. 

H. W.” 

0, rare Aunt Hetty! To borrow from Phoebe’s small 
store, in that cousinly way, when Halfway had dozens of 
spoons! And to solicit Phoebe’s advice, which to Phoebe 
was more precious than rubies and fine gold, and rarely asked, 
but scattered full and free over all the countryside; nor 
diminished on that account, since all giving, though scattering 
ever increaseth. But the fact so delicately intrusted to the 
postscript — that surreptitious summoning and springing of 
the guests upon Garret Wisdom — that would have lured 
her of itself, even though the other snares had failed. “If 
you have no call elsewhere ” — a trumpet and the thunder of 
drums couldn’t have called her anywhere away from Half- 
way on an occasion like that! “Have time to drop over 
within the week ”- — she would make time, the very next day, 
too, if she could catch George and the mail coach ! Moreover, 
she would take with her her valise, to stay the whole week 
out ; and a band-basket beside in which reposed her only and 
therefore her best silk gown, one that had come down to her 
from an aunt, a gay affair in its way, of striped green and 
brown, quite too short, alas, and much too youthful for 
Phoebe’s present age, but very becoming as to colour and 
style ; and there had not been occasion to don it for many a 
year. 


THE GAY CAR OF PLEASURE 


189 


Phoebe tried it on, overnight, and pinched up her cheeks 
to give the sprightly dash of make-up the gown required 
(being a Hew York creation purchased in a moment of 
folly and a full pocket-book). And Phoebe smiled at her- 
self, a bit, in the small mirror atop her bureau — supposed 
Hat would be sillier than ever when he saw her in it — wished 
the mirror was a longer one so she might see herself all the 
way down — and then ashamed of her masquerading jammed 
it back into the band-basket again, making an ugly face at 
herself to atone for the smiling coquettish one of the mo- 
ment before. 

On the following forenoon, Aunt Hetty, standing at the 
opened side-door to get a look at the skies for probable weath- 
er conditions before spreading to them upon the line her 
damask curtains for airing, saw the stage stop at Halfway 
gates, and presently afterwards heard a quite audible alter- 
cation with George the Mailman as to proper fare, then saw 
Phoebe herself start up the lane weighted on either hand with 
valise and basket. When Aunt Hetty saw, and heard, and 
noted all this, she heaved a sigh of satisfaction and thank- 
fulness, and sat plump down upon the topmost step, almost 
overcome with wonder at the outcome of her wiles; for all 
signs now pointed to the success of her feast, unless indeed 
Uncle Garret might elect to be a skeleton thereat, but as for 
that Aunt Hetty decided to “leave it till she came to it.” 

Talk about it being Aunt Hetty’s party! It might have 
been before the call went forth to Phoebe, but now the sceptre 
passed over to Phoebe — capable, and tireless, and resource- 
ful. Over many a funeral and at many a birth, in many a 
troubled time had she held full sway, but never before had 
managed a party, and if it didn’t turn out a success it wasn’t 
going to be her fault. Every room in the great house was 
opened and cleaned; curtains without even a crumple or 
crease to warrant it, taken down and washed and ironed or 
stretched afresh; the many windows of Halfway that they 
adorned or shaded (so many that jealous folk when it was 


190 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


being built said the owner “wanted to have his eyes out over 
all the country”), all these small paned eyes were washed and 
polished till the sinking sun made them gleam like diamonds ; 
the old woodwork was oiled and rubbed to a satin sheen ; and 
the home-woven carpets swept so clean that a popcorn candy 
ball might have rolled over and over upon their bright stripes 
without picking up the finest lint upon its sticky sphere. 

Aunt Hetty was favoured” in having a perfect process 
sion of clients as she termed them, come to consult Uncle 
Garret. For there were new statute laws just enacted, with 
consequent taxes imposed, and the slack time ’twixt hay and 
grass left the men free to consult the Stipendiary about them ! 
Though he was masterful and cranky he knew the laws of his 
country and could set them forth with clearness and with 
authority. How he had absorbed so much of the world’s 
knowledge was truly a wonder as Silas had said, seeing he 
had not been at University nor law-courts of the land. But 
he had used the courses which God and Nature provide us all 
— eyes to observe, ears to hear and a brain to digest and 
weigh. No calling in life but he knew some of its workings, 
with rich store of experience or incident to illumine it. No 
high place but he would have adorned it. But his gruff and 
tyrannical manner, his moroseness at his crippled condition, 
coupled with remorse in his heart, had set him of late apart 
from his fellows, and only on business did they frequent 
Halfway, save now and then Alexander and Captain Nat. 

What he would have said had the party been proposed to 
him, it was not hard to guess, but none proposed it. The 
passing show of housecleaning was put down to doing it while 
Phoebe could stay a week out. And the clients’ coming in 
unusual numbers kept him busy with documents and hear- 
ings. When they were through with, an extra attack of 
sciatica from over-exertion put him in bed for two whole 
days, another special dispensation of her luck for the gentle 
going little Mistress of ceremonies, and Joan was put to hold 


THE GAY CAE OE PLEASUEE 


191 


the fort within the wing rooms, though her heart and in- 
clinations strayed otherwhere. 

Mostly she was called upon to read aloud, for Uncle Garret 
had set himself to get through Byron, this month, and was 
now at the stings and taunts of the diatribe upon the Eng- 
lish Bards. As Joan’s fresh clear voice spoke them forth, 
he grunted or groaned his approval of the harsher parts, or 
coming to some passage he knew by heart, saying it over 
with her, their two voices on together, one reading only the 
■words, with scant understanding of their hitter and caustic 
intent, the older voice putting into each phrase its full quota 
from his own life’s draught. And though Joan hated the 
reading of it, and though she did not sense it, yet she was 
being fed with the pure and sonorous English tongue in one 
of its finest utterances; severe, and abusive, and ofttimes 
rough, but the mellifluous numbers of it flowing like a broad 
and silent river o’er heart and brain. When she came upon 
the exquisite lines to Kirke White, free from venom or 
satire, and soaring in sad spirit, Uncle Garret repeated them 
with her, to the close, making her say them over with him 
thrice, to fix it upon her memory. And the rancour slipped 
from his tone and there was sadness in his own recital, for 
there are other deaths than when the last breath is drawn. 
But Joan did not know that, all young and bright and sweet, 
with life yet before her; though she heard the unwonted 
note in his voice and felt that he was less peremptory than 
usual, following her about with his eyes around the big 
room as she put away books and papers (for nothing ever 
strewed desk or tables at night, even pens and pencils were 
laid in even rows) ; responding to her good-night, too, with 
a kinder grace than usual. She wondered at it, and thinking 
about it after she had nestled down upon her bed, she thought 
of the Sonnet itself, that had seemed to call it forth; and 
tried to say it over, as they had said it through together; 
finding to her joy that it unrolled before her so that she got 


192 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


it almost perfect — and fell asleep thus, drawing from out that 
clear deep well of English verse. 

From house-cleaning the preparations went on to cookery ; 
all of this save the whips and the pound-cake was given over 
to Phoebe. “I know naught of your whips as you call 
them,” said she, “but you’re likely to come to grief with 
them if they’re a vanity and a show, for I’ve often noticed 
that the one thing you pride yourself on is the one to fail; 
but I’ll not hoo-doo them. And you may have the making 
of the pound-cake. I don’t care myself to take a hand in 
anything so circumscribed for you as a pound-cake is — 
equal weights clear through and no chance to use your own 
gumption. Even so, in spite of all your weighing it’s as apt 
as not to go soggy on you.” 

So Phoebe took the big brick-oven for her own special op- 
erations, filling its cavernous depths, and drawing forth from 
out it such wonderful and delectable pasties and sweets that 
Joan had all she could do to keep her eyes off them, much 
less her teeth; while she and Aunt Hetty weighed and heat 
their own mixture till the gold mass heaped itself like cumu- 
lous clouds at sunset, and was put into its tunnelled pans with- 
in the oven of the shining range, emerging thence an hour 
later as high in spirits as when it entered, and as sound of 
heart — calling forth just praise from even the stolid and 
disdainful Phoebe. 

For the whips a sweet concoction was made of luscious com- 
fits and tutti-fruiti of Aunt Hetty’s own preserving, and 
set within the cool dairy to ripen; Joan being entrusted with 
washing and polishing of the tall thin glasses which would 
hold its richness, topped with froth of cream, and partaken 
of with Phoebe’s slender old spoons. Vanity and a passing 
show it might he, hut no failure, Joan was quite sure of 
that, for she had sampled it several times, even to a last 
hasty spoonful when depositing it away for its ripening. 
She also was to serve it, well on in the evening, to the as- 
sembled company, who expecting only the usual candies and 


THE GAY CAR OE PLEASURE 


193 


raisins and nuts to crack, would assuredly get the surprise of 
their lives, for such a dainty had not before appeared in the 
countryside. Aunt Hetty would he the one to know if it 
had, for she visited in every household worth while, within 
the district. 

Finally the labours were at an end, all the various viands 
spread out and stored in pantries and cupboards, while Half- 
way from top to toe shone like burnished gold. And when 
the day itself dawned, bright and clear even if a trifle over' 
warm, Aunt Hetty felt that not a wave of trouble rolled 
across the success of her party, except the possible erup- 
tion from the wing rooms, all as yet inactive, and from all ap- 
pearances into which not even a hint of the approaching 
festivity had set a disturbing foot. She planned to make 
her announcement soon after their early dinner, so when 
the table had been cleared therefrom and stretched out to its 
utmost length, Aunt Hetty left the laying of the snowy cloth 
and the covers to Phoebe and Joan, and stepped away for 
the wing rooms. 

Phoebe had fondly hoped to take a tilt in the tourney, al- 
though not once during all the week had reference been 
made to it. Next to being at the party itself, and “running 
it,” she longed to be • present when Garret was bidden to 
the feast. But the little Mistress of Halfway chose to 
tread her Via Dolorosa alone, and closed and latched both 
doors between. From sounds that crept out even past the 
heavy oak portals, the last bidden guest was not accepting 
with eagerness nor meekness, and by the brief interims in 
the harsh sounds the mild little hostess was not being given 
opportunity of explanation or pleading. From threat of 
“eating his own supper away from the guests,” to “locked 
doors and chained gates,” he flew to a more direful one of 
Pelig and Joan being sent forth by horse “to cancel every 
invitation,” adding his orders for their immediate sum- 
moning to proceed therewith. And when Aunt Hetty ven- 
tured to expostulate at this last, he flew into a passion, and 


194 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


started out to consign her to a dreadful place. He stopped 
in time, of course, though there was no possible doubt as to 
the destination intended, but it turned her little mild face 
white, so that even he in his rage could note it; the brown 
wispy curls hung flat, her eyes showed dread, giving him a 
half pang of remorse even though she had deserved punish- 
ment for such a high-handed proceeding as to actually in- 
vite a party to his own house without consulting him. And 
he really was a gentleman born in spite of the bad temper 
that tried to disprove it, so he was just about to signify 
his regret for that half commitment, when Aunt Hetty sud- 
denly stiffened before him, the grey eyes, full of spirit now, 
gave him a steely glint, and in a masterly fashion that 
wasn’t even third cousin to a retreat or a rout, she “retired,” 
closing the doors carefully behind her, as when entering the 
brief while before. 

By the time she had reached the dining room again, her 
decision was made. The party was going to come off, no mat- 
ter what the consequences ! That telling of her to “go-some- 
where,” was the last straw. Her “first” had once jokingly 
said to “go to blazes,” but then he had laughed over it and 
they had made it up on the spot, for they both were young 
and life was heyday. Even the “second” used to advise her 
now and then to “go to — Guinea,” for a “licensed man” would 
of course make some kind of concession to his cloth. But 
to be, at her age, consigned to such a terrible fate by her 
“third” and lawful husband who had vowed at the altar to 
love and cherish her ! Well, whoever yielded it wasn’t going 
to be herself, now, after that! So though she looked a bit 
ruffled and drenched as to feathers when she rejoined Phoebe 
and Joan, she had her course mapped out. 

The Master of Halfway was not to be visited for the rest 
of the afternoon, no matter how earnestly he might request 
either of the three. Pelig was despatched on an errand so 
he could not hear the shrill whistle that was his own wonted 
call. The great front door, both portions, was opened 


THE GAY CAE OF PLEASUEE 


195 


wide, likewise the side entrance, and “on with the feast” 
was the watchword of the hostess herself. No Waterloo was 
going to crash in upon it, far as she could avert. Just once 
the grey eyes softened, and that was when she cut and filled 
the big glass bowls with the Wisdom roses, to adorn the 
supper table, and the hall. They were Garret’s favourites, 
she thought, and O, how hard it was not to be able to en- 
joy them together. But a swift vision of that dreadful 
“commitment” screwed her courage to the sticking place 
again. 

At five of the clock they all three flew upstairs to bedeck 
themselves; Phoebe in her ancestral silk; Joan in the dainty 
white one that Aunt Hetty had provided, with a sash of 
blue that was a joy to behold, and ribbons to match it for her 
dark braids; the little Aunt herself in her green-grey gown, 
with the pretty lace cape over her shoulders, but beneath 
the gown instead of the modest white one you would have 
expected, a ravishing petticoat of silk, pink and swishy, which 
she had bought in a moment of weakness before this third 
marriage, but had never ventured to don, so modest and 
quiet was the garb of the women folk around. To-day, 
though, she was mad clear through, and she dared anything 
and everything — that “dare” that dies so hard in a woman, 
cut off from it in the very strength of her youth because 
there is a husband to judge her, and the children, and her 
husband’s folks, not to mention that big round public eye; 
while a man may indulge his, to his last dying breath! 

So Aunt Hetty had got out the silk swishy thing and put 
it on; slippers also; and the modest little stomacher and 
choker of net that had filled in and up the slightly low cut 
neck of her gown, she discarded outright, slipping a string of 
beads on instead over the small throat that was still white 
and smooth. Moreover, she didn’t care a snap what any- 
body said! It was her first party at Halfway, her own 
house, and would undoubtedly be her last. Sure she did 
look a picture, and could easily have got a “fourth” in that 


196 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


array, with never a question asked as to age. And it being a 
quarter of an hour of the time set, all three betook them- 
selves downstairs again, for the last orders to the woman 
of the kitchen, the last touches to the table ; all three aflutter 
with fine feathers and expectations. 

Only two hard hearts there were in Halfway, just then — 
the prisoned banished Master, in the wing rooms, nursing 
his wrath and indignation ; and Pelig, in the outer regions — 
Pelig, who had seen the feast prepared and borne his own 
share of the brunt of it in water and wood and hurried 
rides through the community; Pelig, who had heard over 
and over the names of the expected guests, all his own kin- 
dred and who had orders to station himself at the gates 
and direct them around to the big front entrance; who saw 
Joan in the slim beauty of her white frock and sash, with 
her blue eyes for jewels; Mrs. Wisdom in shimmering 
gracious garb all unlike the sober woof of everyday, even 
Phoebe resplendent and gay ; Pelig, who still wore his winsey 
shirt and rough jerkin and jack-boots; Pelig, who had never 
had a word said to him by either of the three as to his own 
presence at the festal board. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


STOBM CLOUDS BLOW OVEB 

I X the front hall Aunt Hetty made herself busy, turning 
to best advantage the Wisdom roses in their howls, and 
the tall vases in the niches with the grass-o’-the-fields to 
deck them; moving chairs and ottomans now here and now 
there in the parlours beyond, all the while listening intent 
for the sound of wheels up the lane and around to 
the old front driveway; though of course when Pelig di- 
rected them thither it was possible they might alight and 
choose to walk around instead. She had decided to throw 
open all the doors between the front and the wing rooms, let- 
ting the guests after her own greeting of them go out them- 
selves, if they pleased and as they pleased, to meet the master 
who had refused to be host — all hands taking the conse- 
quences together, whatever they might he. 

Which of them would arrive first? On that Aunt Hetty 
made her gamble. And if Aunt Hetty at sixty-nine, in a 
pink silk petticoat for the first time in her life, and a string 
of beads, couldn’t be allowed to gamble in a small sort of 
a way, then whenever could she ! Considering her provoca- 
tion too! If it should be the minister first, then the fat 
would all he in the fire at the very start, since Uncle Garret 
to the minister was a sworn enemy, on sight, though always 
good friends before the parting; for the minister had a 
pocketful of good stories at hand and knew when and when 
not to tell them ; and he wasn’t shocked at all at Uncle Gar- 
ret’s mocking of his cloth, because he felt that the mockery 
was really only a bluff, and he could see down beneath it to 
the real Garret he had played with, when they were hoys to- 

197 


198 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


gether. In fact the minister had what you call horse sense, 
still he would have been the very worst one to come first, 
far as Aunt Hetty could see. Captain Nat and Hannah 
would he nearly as had, for Nat had such a bluster about 
him, that nettled Garret. And Becky would he worse 

O, hut what was the use of worrying, for where would 

her gambling he if she could know outright her chances ! 

There came a sound of voices around the old driveway. 
Aunt Hetty picked up her skirts, the pink one and all, and 
running down the long hall, threw open the communicating 
door to the passage way, tiptoed down that, and turned 
softly the knob of the big oak one into Uncle Garret’s sit- 
ting room, meaning to return as fleet to the wide front en- 
trance to meet the approaching voices ; when right before her 
astonished eyes the outer wing room door opened at the 
same time, and in walked Alexander, right into the lion’s 
lair. Alexander, tall and ample and splendid, his four 
eyes beaming a good-natured greeting, Cousin Louisa dressed 
in her best brown satin with crossed kerchief of lace; and 
they bore down together upon the Squire sitting in his chair 
before his desk, Louisa radiant with good humour, and 
“hoping he was feeling fine and trim to-day for the party, 
such a wonderful idea of his and Hetty’s to have them all 
up together — who but Hetty would have thought of it — it 
had been really an age since she had been at a party.” Then 
before Garret could put in a word in reply, she sighted the 
hostess herself standing in the open doorway, and threw 
up both hands in admiration, drawing all eyes toward her, 
Alexander’s four, and the hard blue glittering ones of the 
husband’s as well ; though caught in the act, so to speak, Aunt 
Hetty had only just remembered in time to drop the silken 
skirts, at least she hoped it was in time, but anybody with 
half an eye, let alone four, could see she hadn’t. 

The stern Master never flickered an eyelid in appreciation 
of it all, but the lack couldn’t really be noticed, for close 
upon the heels of these two came Nat and Hannah. “O, 


STORM CLOUDS BLOW OYER 


199 


where was Pelig!” wailed Aunt Hetty to herself, “that he 
let them in this way, instead of by her directions!” And 
then she suddenly saw that the situation was saved by this 
very remissness. To take the hull by the horns at the very 
outset was doing wonders already; for here was Hat in- 
stead of putting his foot in it as she had feared, playing 
the trump card right into her hand by producing and pre- 
senting to his host a jar of tamarinds, straight from St. 
Kitts, the very thing Garret had been hankering for and 
couldn’t get hold of though he had sent twice to town and 
offered double price. 

“The Mary Jane only got in last night and I happened to 

be on the wharf at the time Had to go into town to buy 

a whole new fit up for the party,” said he with a wink at 
Aunt Hetty, “so Garret couldn’t cut me out with the girls ! 
She made the quickest run I ever heard of, you can almost 
smell the Island on the wrappings. Thought you’d like it 
made in drinks this hot weather.” And Captain Hat be- 
stowed the big gallon jar wrapped in its ropy netting upon 
Garret’s table. 

“Who’s the other one for?” asked Alexander, giving a 
dig at Hat’s other arm in the curve of which reposed another 
and a smaller jar ; “Hetty, I suppose !” 

“Ho, it’s not,” said the bold Hathaniel, “it’s for Phoebe. 
I judged she’d be here, since nobody can get along without 
Phoebe.” 

“Except yourself, Hattie,” rallied the Postmaster. 

“O, well,” said the Captain, “ ’tisn’t my fault. I’ve asked 
her often enough.” 

Sister Hannah smiled at this, a wan but triumphant one, 
for well she knew who kept Phoebe from being his mate; 
but here Hetty bore both her and Louisa off to doff their 
wraps, for the bidden kindred were assembling now by all 
the doors of Halfway, Joan letting them in one way, and 
Phoebe another, with greetings upstairs and downstairs and 
in my lady’s chamber. 


200 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“Suppose you sample some of this tamarind right now,” 
proposed Nat, “for it’s been a hot day. I don’t know what 
the country’ll come to unless we have showers soon. Ah! 
here’s water that is water!” as he sighted the big jugful at 
Garret’s elbow. “Nothing like Halfway spring water — with 
a dash of tamarinds in it ! Where are the glasses, Garret ?” 
There had been scarcely a minute’s opportunity for the host 
himself to speak, all hands in the exuberance of arrival talk- 
ing at once, and Joan to be greeted besides; thus any lack of 
warmth on his part not being noticed at this outset. 

“Get the glasses,” said he to Joan. 

“Spring falling off any lately ?” queried Alexander. 
“Great source it must have, bubbling up there ever since 
the first Wisdom came to town, and dear knows how long 

before ; feeding the two houses too, stock and all ” And 

then Alexander’s face flushed for he had surely made a break, 
and he covered it up quickly as possible by bestowing a smile 
upon Joan who was just departing for the glasses, and a 
word of praise of her to her great-uncle. “Smart as a steel- 
trap she is,” said he, “and so friendly with us all too. Seems 
like having a bunch of Wisdom roses in the office when 
she’s down waiting for the mail. Great thing for the child 
to have you and Hetty take her as you have.” 

“And a great thing for you too, to have her here,” said 
Captain Nat. 

Joan heard them both, and the praise and love she en- 
joyed to the full, and glowed under it, for praise was a 
flower that never blossomed at Halfway. How she did like 
those dear two who showered it upon her, and yet quick with 
that thought came another emotion — was it love, or what, 
that stirred her young heart and drew her also to the stern 
grim spoken uncle, and to grey old Halfway? 

But here Becky, and her husband who was lame, arrived, 
and the minister in his gig with his wife who was absolutely 
without guile or humour or unrest, who set her clock stead- 
fastly to the seven days of creation of twenty-four hours 


STOEM CLOUDS BLOW OYEE 


201 


eacE, and the garments that waxed not old in all the forty 
years’ sojourn in the wilderness, as essentials of believing 
faith, never tolerating a pendulum’s stroke variance from 
their actual verity, and feeling constrained to thus stand, 
because her human hearted husband put more stress on life 
and love, and God all around and within us, no matter when 
the world began, or would have end. 

Other cousins followed, till at last all were present, and 
O, what a flutter Halfway was in, kettles bubbling on the 
shining range, all the tempting viands emerging from the 
cool butteries under Phoebe’s marshalling, and finding place 
upon the big table, people hurrying up and down the long 
winding stairs, Alexander’s hearty laugh, Hat’s infectious 
giggling one ; and only the two hard cold hearts — Pelig’s, who 
had not been summoned to the feast, and the Master’s, who 
had refused outright, though the Master was almost in the 
very midst thereof even now, for the guests would linger in 
the wing rooms, in spite of all the hostess’s manoeuvring. 

There was nothing for it, therefore, but to announce her 
supper, and carry out her plan, before them all, but it was 
not without trepidation within her fluttering heart that she 
approached the doorway bearing a full spread tray. “We are 
all ready for supper, now,” said she. “Garret thought he 
would like his in here, as usual,” placing the tray upon 
the table at his hand. But in spite of her courage her thin 
voice trailed off in sheer fright at the last words, and she had 
to hold her head high for steadiness, as she led the way out of 
the wing room. 

An exclamation of surprise almost rose from every throat, 
but was smothered in time, though astonishment was upon 
every face. 

The Master of Halfway had been fairly caught. If he 
wanted to move at all he had to move quick, or stay in the 
trap ; the guests were beginning to follow their leader. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” said the Master of Halfway. 

“Lord, one wouldn’t guess from what we all know of you 


202 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


that you had one to change/’ put in Captain Nat, ready at 
the wheel if there was danger of getting off the course. 

“My stars and senses, Garret, we wouldn’t have supper 
without you at the head of the old table,” said Alexander, 
“if you really feel able for it. I’ll draw you out my- 
self, and the others can go on ahead, if they will.” And 
before you could say Jack Eobinson, there they all were 
seated at the great table, sixteen strong, little Joan at the 
Master’s request seated upon his right. To have heard him 
assign her to this post of honour you might have supposed 
it was his very own party, given at his own behest for the 
bringing out of that same small winsome Joan. It was odd, 
too, that everything was there at his hand as he liked it to 
be when he had been used to presiding, three carvers, and 
the two sharpeners, large spoons, and little spoons, any one 
of which he always asked for, and preferred, if it was not in 
sight, an array which would have surely puzzled sore a 
stranger ; his own special horn-handled knife also, for his own 
using — all of which going to show that in spite of her fears 
Aunt Hetty’s faith had really been very much greater than 
the grain of mustard seed. 

The Master’s eye travelled down and around the festive 
board, that glittered with crystal and silver, noted the great 
bowl of the glowing roses that the first Wisdom bride had 
brought to her new home, riding on the black horse, behind 
her husband ; looked over the bright and cheery faced kindred 
gathered about it ; lingering a bit in spite of himself upon her 
who sat opposite him with gold beads about her throat and a 
gay pink petticoat beneath her modest gown. If only he 
could have given her even the tiniest wink of his eye, as 
Alexander was wont to do for Louisa, what a satisfaction it 
would have been, to them both; but Garret Wisdom neither 
relaxed nor relented, by nature, and hadn’t as yet been 
brought to it by grace. Nevertheless it all looked good to 
him, and as far as in him lay he capitulated and gave him- 
self up to the joys of the feast. 


STORM CLOUDS BLOW OVER 


203 


“For what we are about to partake/’ said he, “I guess 
we’ll have to thank Hetty and Phoebe, and if anybody wants 
to go further hack than that he can do it, on his own ac- 
count.” 

The minister’s wife who hadn’t a sense of humour pressed 
her husband’s arm in outraged propriety, an imploring pres- 
sure that urged him to a defence of the faith, hut that worthy 
man even though he had prepared an unusually good line-o’- 
grace to fit the occasion, used his “horse sense” and declined 
to enter the lists. 

Aunt Hetty, though horrified, was already only just out of 
one kettle of fish, and decided to let well enough alone. “They 
were all Garret’s folks anyway, not hers! But somebody 
would have to say something, quick, or the whole thing might 
be spoiled at the very start off.” 

It was Cousin Alexander who came to the rescue. “Makes 
me think of the first Sunday I taught class when I was a 
young man, a hunch of the coloured section over the Hill; 
and I hadn’t got a fair starter on the lesson when one of 
them opened up by asking me who made him. I could tell 
him that, of course, hut he led right on and asked me who 
made his Maker. They were husky fellows, and I had to 
think quick and wise or lose them, likely, so I said, “How 
look here, if I do tell you that, then you’ll want to know 
who made the other one, and so on, and so on.” And they 
saw the point and hacked down on their quibbling, accepting 
their Maker as God. “And no one of us,” continued Alex- 
ander, tall and straight and kindly, “Ho one of us here, has 
reached our age, without knowing where to look to give 
thanks for this food, and for all our other blessings as well — 
among which I would especially mention Hetty and Phoebe, 
as Garret has himself said.” 

It was a straight hit, and Garret wouldn’t have taken it 
from anybody present except Alexander. But it was really 
the chickens coming in just then that saved the situation all 
around, four of them, upon the huge old Sheffield platter. 


204 : 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Even one chicken, plump and brown, is a joy to see appear- 
ing, and a pair is just as good again; with three, all ready 
for eating, you throw dull care to the winds ; but four 
arow, upon the same dish, is riotous living ! Sixteen legs and 
wings, not to mention the oysters and upper thighs, with the 
portly breasts overflowing with dressing, thrown in ! 

And it was a sight to see the Stipendiary carve them. 
Next to doing a thing well, is to have other people see you do 
it; and carving was one of his special accomplishments. With 
his trusty blades he cut and clove, so dextrous, so precise of 
joint, that you knew just to watch him that he not only 
“could say his own hones,” as Silas of the Post Office had 
averred, hut a chicken’s as well; and so quickly done that 
nobody seemed to he last served, hut everybody enjoying their 
plates at once. 

How blithely they talked over them, too, with Nat’s sea 
yarns to split your sides, and the minister’s pocketful to 
match them; and Cousin Louisa’s recital of bright incident 
told with shining eyes and delightful manner; high con- 
verse too, affairs of state discussed and settled with the easy 
assumption of Downing Street or Ottawa; gay badinage 
tossed across and around among them; all, even to Hannah 
wan and weary, joining in the fun, save Joan, the guest of 
honour at Uncle Garret’s right, hut though silent, fairly 
revelling in this gathering of her kinsfolk — the first, the very 
first party she ever was at in all her life. 

When she said so, in answer to somebody who asked 
her how she liked this particular one, it just happened that 
there was silence for one brief minute in the banter that 
circled the festive hoard, and her clear young voice could 
be heard by all. 

“Never at a party before!” exclaimed Cousin Alexander. 

“Why, they’ll have to give another one specially for you, 
of young folks, if we could scare up enough. That’s the way 
we always did at our house when the boys were home, a 


STORM CLOUDS BLOW OYER 205 

gathering of the old folks first, and with what was left over 
have another for the youngsters, eh, Louisa ?” 

“Not with what was left over,” corrected Louisa. “We 
never put it that way. We prepared enough at first for both 
occasions.” 

“Same thing,” said Alexander ; “broad as ’tis long as far 
as I can see, though Louisa is always at me for the way I 
‘put’ things, the women are great for appearances, and proper 

presentation of their ways . But leaving that alone I 

guess there’ d be enough young folks around if you took them 
up to George’s age. George is a great admirer of yours,” turn- 
ing to Joan again. “It’s the girls that are scarce around 
here.” 

“That young person Jane brought up,” vouchsafed the 
minister’s wife, “appears to be a very proper girl, and now 
that Orin Wisdom has taken her she ought to be a very good 
mate for your niece.” 

This to Aunt Hetty, next to whom she sat, and would 
have gone on at greater length, and danger, hut it was the 
minister’s turn to give a restraining nudge this time, know- 
ing which quarter the wind blew as to the Island affairs, 
thus diverting her safely hack to Jane herself, and the sudden 
death. 

Then one of the Cousin’s wives who didn’t know Half- 
way snuff, began to speak of Jem the gipsy’s death, and that 
way also lay danger, hut Louisa sensing the peril there, 
steered the talk out into the broad waters of generality, and 
off the Halfway rocks, without a breath of it ever reaching 
the Master. 

Cakes, preserves, and Phoebe’s biscuits and crumpets and 
tarts, followed the chickens, with the pound cake cut in broad 
slices within the low baskets, and doughnuts so crisp and 
thick through that Uncle Garret sighting them and realising 
the concession they stood for, swallowed with them his last 
compunction and gave himself over to the pride that Halfway 
could spread such a feast. Down beneath it all was a pride 


206 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


also in having a wife who could thus plan and achieve it, 
even if surreptitiously. And when the feast was at an end 
the squire of Halfway made excuse to Alexander to pull him 
again to his own rooms while the others repaired to the draw- 
ing-room; a few minutes afterward joining them there, ar- 
rayed in frock coat and fresh cuffs and tie, since he only of 
all the assemblage had not had on a wedding garment, be- 
ing surprised as it were! Now, drawn in easily and blithely 
by the strong kindly cousin, properly clothed he was, and 
in his right mind, for this brief while at least the evil spirit 
within him exorcised, no matter how long had been its spell 
behind nor how far it yet stretched on before. 

In the drawing-room the hostess had her own mode of en- 
tertainment, albums, views, puzzles of tortuous rings, and 
various knots to learn to tie, for those who wished them ; while 
Aunt Hetty herself, commencing at the doorway with a 
chair brought in from the hall for the purpose, would seat 
herself upon it next the first of the circle of guests, Visit- 
ing’ ? with her or him, as the case might be, talking over their 
various interests. Asking this “visited” person to change 
places with her, she would sit over again in the vacated chair 
to “call upon” the next in turn, with the same kindly concern 
as to family and affairs, those visited, their tongues loosed 
and their hearts warmed up, making more ready converse 
with their neighbours, and Aunt Hetty thus paying proper 
personal attention to every guest, with no one left out in the 
cold. 

Half way down the room the Squire of Halfway held his 
own court, upon his enforced throne with its broad footrest 
and broader arms, not dispensing laws unwelcome, nor bear- 
ing down of claims, nor defying custom and courtesies, but 
the attentive host, making welcome and glad the kinsfolk 
gathered in this home of their fathers. 

At the upper end was Joan, upon one of the high old sofas, 
between Hannah and the minister who were both asking her 
a great many questions. Captain Nat and Phoebe sat bolt 


STOKM CLOUDS BLOW OVER 


207 


upright upon the opposite one, looking over an album’s con- 
tents, ancient and modern, Phoebe’s gay striped gown spread 
with modest concern far down as possible over her protrud- 
ing feet. Sometimes at a special sally of her admirer’s, 
she would sit hack with uproarious laugh so far upon the 
cushions that the flounces flew out and up with direful flare 
before she would catch Hannah’s disapproving eyes opposite, 
and edging over close to the front would draw it carefully 
down, forgetting over and over again, and as suddenly re- 
membering, with frantic pulls, till it finally got on Captain 
Hat’s nerves. 

“0, let her reef !” said he in loud hearty voice, “it’s only 
boots and stockings anyhow! Where’s the harm!” So at 
the general laugh she abandoned the chase, and gave herself 
up to the attractions of her partner. 

Everybody happy, and the “whips” yet to come! The 
Rising-Sun patchwork in its intricate squares of radiant and 
radiating lines of orange and red, was being passed around, 
Aunt Hetty explaining their apparent maze in a manner 
sufficiently puzzling to discourage any attempt at imitation, 
and was just announcing to them all that “suns might rise 
and suns might set, before she would ever make another,” 
when suddenly her voice died away in clear dismay at the 
sight that met her astonished gaze, for there stood Pelig, 
just across the threshold of the great drawing-room. 

Pelig, who had not been invited to the party, whose heart 
was hot and hard, a bitter, stolid anger that he had not known 
was within him; remonstrance at his poverty, surging and 
sweeping him through; at his lot in life, and its meagre joys 
meted out to him; a white anger at the master who ruled 
so hard even if just, who proud of his wealth and position had 
scorned him because he was an hireling, not reckoning him 
with those others bidden, though of the same blood and name. 
He would sting that pride, rouse his wrath before them all. 
For Pelig did not know it was Aunt Hetty’s own party, and 
not Garret Wisdom’s. 


208 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


So in lie had gone, standing for a moment, thus, in the 
wide doorway, before them all. “0, why had none of them 
thought of him!” Joan understood, and her young heart 
winced, a sharp pain cutting through it, at his exile, and the 
passion within his own that must have beaten him so sore 
before he had dared this. Her eyes smarted with sudden fear 
at what might befall him from those stern merciless lips of the 
Master. “O, why had she and Aunt Hetty forgotten him, 
and what would it be that would descend upon that red 
defenceless head!” 

He was not in party attire, but the necktie that had graced 
his winsey shirt since Joan’s advent at Halfway was tied 
with special care, his well worn trousers tucked inside his 
high jack-boots, the shock of red hair patted more damply 
than usual over his freckled forehead; and the Wisdom eyes, 
blue, deep and tender, and cynical now as the Master’s own, 
shone from out it all. 

Garret Wisdom’s face that had unbent in some story 
he was telling, turned instantly hard at sight of the in- 
truder. 

Phoebe bolt upright upon her sofa with Captain Nat, 
gave an half audible snort of satisfaction at thought of her 
arch enemy’s dismay and hurt pride, then suddenly drew it 
back, in sympathy instead with the youth himself. 

The guests, not getting a cue from the household as to 
what they should themselves do, did nothing, seeing in the 
newcomer only the boy who had taken their horses, Garret’s 
man; for Halfway was far from the village and Pelig had 
not often gone thither, to be known of them. 

Still he stood, just across the threshold. Aunt Hetty was 
three quarters round the circle when he entered. It appalled 
her at first. After so many rapids safely passed here was an- 
other to navigate, and she feared shipwreck at last, for the 
scowl was gathering black upon her husband’s face. What 
should she do ? O ! why had she forgotten him ! He had 
harnessed her husband’s spirited steed more than once at her 


STORM CLOUDS BLOW OVER 


209 


request and refused to give evidence against her by admitting 
it, though no pact between them passed their lips save that she 
was mistress and he hired to do her bidding. They rarely 
spoke together above the necessary communications, but he 
seemed often at hand when something heavy was to be 
borne and himself bore it in her stead. 

Nor had she on her own part failed him. Never once 
since his first advent to Halfway and its dining room, had 
she missed laying his place at table; seldom had he used it 
but it always awaited his pleasure, and he knew it. His 
bed, spread in the ell-chamber, was made with white and 
scrupulous care, and the whole chamber kept in 
unison, while never before had he known aught but the 
rough blanket and heavy coverlid of a “farm hand.” It had 
not escaped his perception, it had indeed been a pregnant 
factor in the strong and subtle change that had come upon 
him since living here. Thus instinctively, in the dreadful 
pause, with the scowl upon the hard handsome face of the 
Squire and the puzzled astonishment upon all those others, 
he turned to her. Nor did she fail him now. Gently and 
quietly she faced it — she would do what she could, as a 
woman from old time ever hath. It was her party, and this 
unbidden forgotten guest should not lack his welcome even 
though claimed at the eleventh hour. “Take my chair, 
Pelig,” she said, “and sit by Cousin Becky. I have to go 
out presently to see about the refreshments. Pelig helps 

us with the work ” And then she stopped, in fright again 

at what she had uttered, the very thing she would most have 
desired not to say; and herself glanced appealingly around, 

at Phoebe, at Joan Would neither of them help her over 

the hard place, hostess though she was ! 

And lo, a greater than Solomon was there. Aunt Hetty’ 3 
party ? Yes, all hers, but Uncle Garret’s house, and the home 
of his forefathers, his, and Pelig’ s! 

“Sorry I can’t offer you my own seat, Pelig,” he called out, 
with a touch of banter that set the youth, and them all, at 


210 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


ease. “I don’t suppose you ever saw so many of your peo- 
ple before,” said be. “Pelig is one of the ilk all right, though 
somewhat remote, and he’s the last one of his branch — de- 
scended from my great-uncle Jock, who settled at Hard- 
scrabble, and things rather went against him; but he was a 
great wit, and I can remember hearing him talk with my 
father when I was a boy. Glad you got through in time to 
come in, Pelig.” 

O, surely that would atone for many a stormy wind that 
blew. And the affable majesty of his mien as he said it gave 
Joan a thrill of joy and pride. 

The Postmaster rose and extended his hand. “Happy to 
meet you,” he said with kindness. “Don’t do much cor- 
responding, I’m thinking, for I’ve never had a letter for 
you to my knowledge.” 

Cousin Louisa added her own gracious greeting. 

“Better go the rounds, Pelig,” called Captain Nat, al- 
ways ready to mollify, and with a sailor’s welcome, “you’re 
younger than most of us here, except the ladies of course, 
so we’ll sit in our seats and you can navigate tho circle, see % 
You know Phoebe, that much’s done with, and you can go 
on to the next.” 

Poor Pelig ! He rose from the seat Aunt Hetty had prof- 
fered him, and essayed to go his rounds, but it looked hard 
work. Then it was J oan’s turn to do her part. “I’ll go with 
you,” said she blithely, springing from her sofa ; “we’ll find 
out our relations together, Pelig.” 

And thus together they trod the big flowered carpet, and 
described the circle, Pelig’s face growing redder at every 
shake and bow; by the time they reached the doorway 
again the beads of perspiration stood out on his high, freckled 
forehead, and his hands were clammy and cold. But some- 
way those kindly handshakes had stirred something within 
him, not the sullen dogged resentment that had led his feet 
inside Halfway dining room, and had set them thither, here, 
but a warm deep glow instead, that linked him with things 


STOEM CLOUDS BLOW OVEE 


211 


that were above and beyond bis daily lonely toil. That circle 
of old faces belonged to him , the pictured portraits upon the 
wall and the high mantel, were his kinsfolk — bis, who had 
grown up bis life thus far with only bis mother’s memory 
for love and comradeship, their bond the bitter fact that 
father and husband bad played them false, consigning them 
to poverty and shame. He bad seen him in bis drunkard’s 
grave, bad seen bis mother in her lowly one, and had nor 
brother nor sister beside. Though he had known the Wis- 
doms were his kin, yet his heart had been set at naught 
against them, and he had not announced himself, except that 
first station of his Cross, at the big old dining-table on the 
day of his arrival at Halfway. 

Since Joan’s coming, though they seldom talked together, 
a breath of new life had sprung up within him, a longing, 
unattainable he deemed, that had no voice, scarce even a 
being, but had moved him to make protest this night at his 
banishment from these kindred, and their acceptance that his 
lot in life was another than was theirs. But now the sullen 
resentful emotion was swept away, something leaped within 
him, and he knew that he was going to fulfill his life, some 
day, some way. 

It was Joan, with her keen intuition, who sensed that the 
interview as at an end. “Aunt Hetty,” said she, “we’ll 
both help you with the whips.” Thus all three went out to- 
gether. 

And from that on, without another break, the party went 
merry as a marriage-bell. The whips made their sensation, 
and were extolled to Aunt Hetty’s satisfaction, the sweets 
and fruits as well. The women folk who one and all, except 
the minister’s wife, were linked up with Halfway, and re- 
membered old days in its great rooms in childhood and girl- 
hood, clamoured to see the place throughout, so while the 
men finished up the evening out in the wing-rooms, these 
all trooped the place over, led by the proud hostess who 


212 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


well knew that not a speck of dust nor trace of disorder would 
make her ashamed. 

Joan thought that was the very loveliest part of it all, 
for they paused on thresholds to tell tales of old doings with- 
in the rooms; told her about that other Joan, her grand- 
mother, whose bedroom she herself had; and Cousin Becky 
asked if she had learned to weave, yet, and started to ask 
about a loom-room, hut Aunt Hetty called Joan away just 
then to light the candles in the third story chambers. And 
when she had thus done, waiting up there for them to join 
her, standing on the high landing above them all, somebody 
exclaimed, “It’s Joan herself come hack to Halfway! Do 
look at her !” Cousin Becky, who was the first to mount, catch- 
ing her in her arms and hugging her tenderly because she 
used to love that other J oan in the long ago. 

Straight through to the very end it was a success, Aunt 
Hetty getting praise for all the events, and invitations enough 
to last out the rest of her days. 

“The very loveliest, dearest time I’ll ever have in all my 
life,” thought Joan, as at length she was ready for her 
downy nest Which was quite true, for though there would 
be many another at Halfway as the years went on, Joan could 
never again have a first real party in her first real home. 
There is an indefinable interest in first things. 

When she was very nearly off to the Land of Nod, after 
going over and over all the doings, suddenly she waked wide 
with two things she remembered somebody saying. One 
was what Cousin Alexander had said about the spring keep- 
ing two houses going ; she wondered what he meant ; and not 
being able to think it out, tucked it away in that little or- 
derly mind of hers along with that thing Lisbeth had dis- 
covered, that had looked like a plugged-up hole in the stone 
wall of the spring; though she did not recall that now, nor 
know that the two were stored up side by side. 

The other was a remark of Cousin Louisa to Aunt Hetty 


STORM CLOUDS BLOW OYER 


213 


as they went down the stairs together, not knowing Joan 
was behind and couldn’t help hearing. “I’d teach her to 
weave if I were you, for it’s really being revived again now 
that the Arts and Crafts Societies are everywhere, hut don’t 
let her touch that unlucky piece ; she can learn on the small 
loom, and it will he so handy for her, opening right off her 
own bedroom.” 

What room could Louisa have meant ? There was no door 
to he seen in Joan’s own except the one into the hall. Well, 
she would ask Aunt Hetty about it to-morrow, or perhaps 
Uncle Garret himself, for it was going to he lovely from 
now on, at Halfway, with Unele Garret so fine and agree- 
able! 


CHAPTER XIX 


BOUGH SAILING 

W ASN’T Uncle Garret splendid, Phoebe,” said Joan 
next morning, she and Phoebe busy over putting 
away the extra service that had been brought from out the 
old closets for the party. “I suppose we’ll always have 
good times with him now.” 

Phoebe gave a decidedly dissenting sniff. “Good times,” 
said she in tones to match. “Well, as yet, I haven’t noticed 
any signs of the millenium at hand. Your Aunt Hetty has 
already had one session with him this morning. He was only 
showing off last night, proud of his house and his wares. 
He did it thinking she’d be expecting a blow-out before them 
all, and that he’d surprise her and take the wind out of her 
sails. That’s the only reason he was perk and fine. He’s 
a whited sepulchre.” 

“I don’t think I know what that means,” answered Joan, 
loth to let go the vision splendid of a reclaimed Uncle Gar- 
ret, who would shower his good nature upon them all the 
days ahead. “He looked so well and handsome,” said she, 
“not sick a bit like he always looks in his own room. And 
Phoebe, he was splendid to Pelig, and you can’t say he 
wasn’t. Phoebe, why didn’t any of us think about Pelig, 
but leave him out the way we did! I know Aunt Hetty 
wouldn’t have done it on purpose, she had so much to be re- 
membering, but you and I might have thought of him. It 
must have been awfully hard for him to come in, the way he 
did. I don’t believe I could have done it, and I dfcn’t think 
I would have wanted to, anyway, if I’d been treated like 
that.” 


214 


ROUGH SAILING 


215 


“Then that’s a Wisdom trait yon haven’t got. We like 
to do stubborn things that people aren’t expecting of us. 
That is why your Uncle Garret came in to the party and put 
on his best behaviour with his best coat. And as for being 
hard for Pelig to do as he did, it’s hard things that bring 
out qualities in us ; no heavy load to lift and we grow no 
muscle. If Pelig hadn’t been good and mad, clear through, 
like he was, and determined to show up that he was a Wis- 
dom, why none of the folks would have known about him, 
while now since he announced himself, he’ll find every one 
of them is his friend. I heard them all asking him up 
when they were getting ofi; and to my own mind he’s a 
likely fellow and will come on in the world if he gets a 
chance. If Garret Wisdom had any soul he’d give him some 
kind of a lay-out along with his work, a piece of land to be 
farming on the shares, or something like that, so he could 
try himself out, over and above mere wages ; or let him stay 
on here and learn how to manage Halfway, for somebody 
has got to have it and run it when he’s dead and gone — it’ll 
he tight squeezing for him to try to take it along with him, 
the underground route he’s got to go.” 

J oan was rather aghast at this utterance, hut in such close 
contact with her all the past week had become somewhat used 
to Phoebe’s vivid speech. Phoebe would probably be going 
away to-night, and there was something Joan wanted to ask 
her about while she seemed approachable. “Phoebe,” said 
she, “did you know I was ever here before, once when I was 
an awfully little girl ?” 

Phoebe finished polishing the whip glasses, and standing 
on a chair set them in row upon the upper shelf of the crys- 
tal closet, got down and surveyed them, with discriminating 
eye as to position, and pushed the door to. 

“Well, what if I did?” asked she coolly, snapping the 
catch and setting back the chair. 

“But you never told me,” said Joan. 

“Did I have to ? Least said soonest mended.” 


216 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“I don’t see how it could hurt to say something about it,” 
ventured Joan, already half squelched by the non-commit- 
tal tone, hut still persisting. 

“I had nothing myself to do with bringing you here the 
other time,” said the woman, “nor now, either, so what call 
had I to talk about it soon as I saw you ! When Providence 
doesn’t point out where I’m to take a hand in things I sit 
back and watch it out. It was your Uncle brought you back 
this time, and as a rule Garret Wisdom plays his own hand, 
Providence or not, thus far along in life, but there’ll be a 
reckoning for him some day. He’s calling you now” — as 
the impatient, imperative voice sounded out from the wing 
rooms — “Jo-ann, Jo-ann.” 

a Go to him quick. I know that tone all right — I guess 
your ‘fine handsome’ uncle of the party must have run away 
somewhere! You might have talked too much, anyway, if 
you’d been left here. The people who talk the least always 
know the most, remember that. But don’t be too afraid of 
your Uncle Garret. You’re too young to let it be a shadow 
over you. He’s screeching again — wanting you to find some- 
thing that’s right before his very nose, too, I’ll warrant — but 
run on in, if you want to save your skin.” 

Certainly the fine handsome uncle of the party had fled, 
as Phoebe rightly surmised, for little Joan could find no 
trace of him in the wing rooms where the Uncle Garret of 
old held his wonted sway over everything that was within 
them, and everybody who crossed their threshold. 

Aunt Hetty deeming it wise that the victor should not 
glory over the vanquished while defeat and conquest were 
still fresh in mind, stayed apart much as possible that first 
day after her triumph, since there was Phoebe to bear the 
brunt, and Joan to come and go on. Also, she too was loth 
to relinquish her vision of the courtly, genial husband who 
had so gloriously helped her carry off the honours the eve- 
ning before ; and to thus absent herself she could still dwell 
upon the memory. 


ROUGH SAILING 


217 


So Joan and Phoebe together had a day of it. Nothing 
seemed to go right with him. It was in reality the bodily 
effect npon his mind of the over-exertion, hut he did not 
connect it at all with himself, thinking instead that every- 
body and everything was out of joint. The “Free Press” 
editorials were intolerable, Alexander in the warmth of heart 
after the party having sent up the mail to Halfway by a 
passing teamster. A letter that he had expected from town 
did not arrive. Some young cattle broke down a fence and 
got in among the corn, and Pelig being in a distant portion of 
the place at the upper barns could not be got hold of to 
drive them out. Things went wrong right up to the 
night itself which was hot and muggy, and hard to sleep 
through, even though the little wise and still-tongued wife 
fixed him exactly to his own demands, coming to him 
again in the morning with fresh water she had herself 
brought up from the spring, and a trayful of breakfast fit 
for a king. 

Phoebe who had borne yesterday’s brunt, being absent 
to-day, Aunt Hetty had to take a hand at the ropes, with 
Joan, and between them they weathered through, but it was 
rough sailing, and on toward the evening’s close, when neither 
were needed in attendance, Joan sought out Aunt Hetty at 
her patchwork of the Rising-Sun. 

“What makes you let him be so bad and cross ?” she asked, 
even young as she was seeing the needlessness and the selfish- 
ness of the petulant tyranny, and stung to expression even if 
she should meet reproof. 

“Let him!” The mild voiced little aunt looked her sur- 
prise at the question. “Who could stop him?” 

“But he hasn’t any right to spoil everything so, in this 
lovely dear old place.” 

“Your Uncle had felt a chill most of the day,” explained 
his tolerant wife. “The east wind came up in the night, 
through that opened window by his bed.” 

“I know, but we didn’t do it, Aunt Hetty. He made you 


218 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


leave it open, himself. I heard him tell you. But he doesn’t 
need to he cross just because he’s cold.” 

“When a man is cold and chilled he is madder than if he 
was stung,” said Aunt Hetty. “I don’t know why, but they 
always are. My other two were the same.” 

“Well, he was too hot the night before, and he was just 
as had,” persisted Joan, astonished at her own liberty of 
speech, but constrained thereto by the harsh treatment they 
two had so unjustly horn. “And Aunt Hetty, when he 
spilled the ink this afternoon, all himself, for we weren’t near 
him, what made him cross at us? We didn’t do it! There 
ought to be somebody to make him he nice and pleasant all 
the time, like he was at the party.” 

“I don’t know that anybody ever tried to make your uncle 
do anything ; the shoe is on the other foot always. But that’s 
only his manner, and you mustn’t worry over it so. I don’t 
know why I don’t mind it myself more than I do, unless it’s 
maybe because I’ve had experience with husbands, and know 
they all have their had points, as well as their good ones — 
and sometimes lately,” said she, half musingly, while she 
matched a corner square, “sometimes lately, I have thought 
that we women may possibly have little ways of our own, too, 
that bother them — possibly.” 

“But I wouldn’t mind the words he says, if he didn’t say 
them so hard, and so loud. And I know it’s not right for me 
to notice, but, Aunt Hetty, I don’t think you ought to let 
him scold and shout so at you when you haven’t done a 
single thing to deserve it.” 

“Maybe not,” said Aunt Hetty, after one of the long 
pauses she often left between a question and its answer. 
“But the way I reason about it, since he is kept to his bed 
and his chair, is, that when I don’t like it and can’t stand it 
I can go out away from it all, and he can’t follow to keep it 
up. Providence blessing me in this respect I hardly think 
it’s necessary to take him to task. If I was here all the 
time at his elbow I’d get the doldrums myself likely, and 


HOUGH SAILING 


219 


answer back. There’s nothing so contagious as had temper.” 
And she reached over for her piece basket to place within it 
her squares when she should have matched and counted them, 
a sign manual of self-ahsorption and dismissal. 

Joan had been thus set aside many a time before, for 
Aunt Hetty never seemed to have breath nor desire for long 
conversations, but this time her abstractions deterred not 
Joan from pursuing her train of thought, for she had de- 
termined, made bold by her two months’ residence at Half- 
way and her whole-hearted reception by all the Wisdom folk, 
to talk it out this time about the stormy uncle now that she 
was at it. And so she waited quietly a bit, watching the little 
thin fingers picking out the red and orange rays to get their 
adjustment to the pencilled pattern; then seeing that two 
seams were ready for an easy run up, she ventured again 
upon her theme. 

“Aunt Hetty, if you know you can’t change him — couldn’t 
we ask the Lord to do it? He was so lovely at the party, 
he ought not to be let go back again to the old bad way.” 

The Hising-Sun sank out of sight in Aunt Hetty’s basket, 
fallen from her hands in surprise at such a question. “He’d 
hardly thank us for praying for him,” said she. “I don’t 
suppose anybody has prayed for him since his mother died, 
when he was a bit of a boy.” 

“Perhaps that’s why,” put in Joan eagerly, and wistfully 
also at sudden thought of the stormy great-uncle a hit of a 
boy, and motherless, like herself. “But why couldn’t we 
do it for him, Aunt Hetty ?” 

“I suppose it’s because he’s so strong willed, and masterful, 
and able to manage his own affairs for himself always,” re- 
plied she, slowly, thinking it out as she went along, for her- 
self as well as for Joan. “We’re always more used to praying 
for the kind who can’t help themselves, maybe. It’s a long 
time since your uncle has been inside a meeting-house,” 
added Aunt Hetty who was of the type needing the outward 


220 


JOAH AT HALFWAY 


medium of pulpit and pew to constitute communion witH 
tlie Unseen. And then a half smile flitted over her little 
old face. 

“I don’t know as I ought to tell you,” she said, “but the 
last time we were together at the little church at cross-roads, 
St. Paul’s they call it, they had a new melodion to play on, 
and the one who was doing the playing got into a pretty 
quick tune, and it grated on your uncle, someway, though 
he’s not what they might call religious ; for he’s old-Zion, if 
he’s anything — Presbyterian without a gown. But he was 
mad, anyway, with so much getting up and down, as his 
rheumatism was just setting in then, so when the music got 
into a fair jig with an anthem they were going to sing, he 
got up and went out. We were way up at the front, but out 
he went, all the way down the aisle stepping slow like, to that 
tune. Of course I couldn’t see it myself, but Louisa told 
me he stepped it off as plain as could be, though with a solemn 
face, and by the time he got back to the door the whole 
church was a titter — it was scandalous. And he never went 
there again, nor any other place either, and so I am largely 
kept from attending the means of grace myself, Joan. But 
the minister told me at our party that old-Zion was to be 
opened up again, and if that’s so we’ll try to attend. Your 
uncle ought not to make any objections to old-Zion, and 
even if he does there probably will be some way we can man- 
age it. If there’s not one way, there’s always another.” 

“O, I can remember going there, when I was here be- 
fore,” said J oan, “with Mrs. Debbie. O, wouldn’t it be dear 
to go in it again.” 

“Very likely you were, for Debbie was one of the strongest 
members. Hone of the Wisdoms would ever belong to St. 
Paul’s. The Halfway family always had the long side pew 
in old-Zion, and now that the high partitions have all been 
lowered we’d have a great view of the whole congregation 
from it. I’d like to be there again hearing the old psalms 
sung through, for excuse ourselves as we may, Sunday isn’t 


BOUGH SAILING 


221 


Sunday, unless you’ve been to the Lord’s House; and month 
after month to go on without appearing there isn’t good for 
any of us. I’ve missed it more than I owned to. We’ll plan 
to go regular^ J oan, soon as Zion opens up.” 

And after a little pause, “Pray for your Uncle, if you wish 
to, child. But you speak of your Maker with what I might 
perhaps call too much assurance — as if you talked to Him, 
like you would to a mortal.” 

J oan was troubled an instant with the rebuke, then sought 
to explain. “I hadn’t any one else, to talk to, about things, 
so often,” said she, “for you know I never had a real home 
before, that I belonged to; and I used to wonder where I’d 
be next, and what I ought to do, so I had to ask somebody, 
Aunt Hetty, and I thought that He wanted us to ask for 
help.” 

“Maybe so,” said Aunt Hetty; “maybe so,” though she 
did not see it clear, as did J oan. But dear little Aunt Hetty 
had had distractions, prosperity, health, three husbands, and 
twenty-seven patterns of patchwork to piece up, and per- 
haps we shouldn’t blame her because she had not sought Him, 
yet, often as had Joan. He is for us all, at our cries and for 
our needs, but O, surely means more to those who need Him 
most and with faith oftenest cry. And well was it for J oan 
that thus early in her life, before the billows and the waves 
should roll over her, she knew where she might find Him. 

“I think you had better go up to bed, now,” said Aunt 
Hetty presently. “To-morrow maybe will be an easier day. 
I always notice that things go in threes, snow and wind and 
rain, and bothering circumstances as well; three days of 
whatever it is and then a change, so to-morrow’ll be a better 
time. I wouldn’t mind having three days of rain,” added 
she, “for it is getting so dry around that I feel choky just 
breathing in the air, and there is no more than a foot of soft 
water in the tank, Pelig tells me. Good-night, Joan,” as 
Joan turned at the door and met the older placid gaze ; “learn 
not to mind abcut your Uncle’s ways ; you are too earnest, just 


222 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


let it slide off yon. — You may kiss me good-night if you like.” 

If she liked ! The recipient had no doubt whatever about 
the “liking,” for Joan bestowed upon her such a hearty 
vigorous hug that the patchwork basket fell to the floor 
in confusion, and the side combs from out her wavy pretty 
hair. But she didn’t object a whit, for dear knows when she 
had had a hug like that, and settling herself back under the 
pleasurable sensation of it, the little Aunt who had worked 
always along the lines of least resistance, least shock, fell 
again to her patchwork till it should be time to fix up her 
husband for the night. 

“Queer face she’s got,” thought she, as the door closed be- 
hind Joan. “Seems like a light, shining out from behind it. 
When she came up the lane yesterday I could see her face 
long before I saw the rest of her, yet it’s so dark skinned too. 
Garret’s sister was the same, and that big old painting of her 
and Garret that he had hung away in the loom-room always 
seemed full of light. I guess I’ll have that room opened up 
for the child, as Louisa suggested. It would help pass her 
time and take her mind off other things that she dwells on toe 
much. Garret wouldn’t favour it, likely. Still, he never told 
me not to open it, and it’s no good hitting your head against 
a stone wall, asking him.” 

Joan climbed the long winding stairs, with the little lamp 
that lighted her way, in her hand; and the one that lighted 
her face, within her heart ; and when she had made ready for 
sleep, and left her door ajar as Aunt Hetty always had told 
her to do for company, she cuddled herself down in the big 
old four-poster to think a bit, before the delicious drowsiness 
of youth’s sleep should fall upon her. Her prayer for her- 
self, and her own doings and small problems, she had said 
upon her knees at the bedside. But there was another peti- 
tion to be made this night, a prayer for Uncle Garret. 

Suddenly that picture of him, tilting down the aisle to the 
melodion’s tune, came to Joan’s vision, and she tittered out- 
right at thought of it — how she would have liked to see him 


KOUGH SAILING 


223 


do it, though of course it had been a dreadful thing to do, in 
a church ! Then those lines to Kirke White which he had re- 
peated so sadly, came to her mind, and she said them over, 
now, herself, remembering his own rich voice that had 
dropped its wonted harshness ; thought of his splendid greet- 
ing of Pelig at the party and all his fine and courtly man- 
ner throughout the evening ; then of his everyday mood. O, 
what a funny, darling, ugly, splendid old thing he was ! And 
if Aunt Hetty wouldn’t make him better, and the minister 
didn’t think it best to try, and she herself didn’t know how, 
then there was just the Lord who could! 

So Joan sent up her prayer for Garret Wisdom. And it 
went straight up to the Throne. 

Who was Garret Wisdom ? asked they before the Throne. 
What were his records ? Had his name ever been placed in 
the Lamb’s Book of Life ? Turn back the leaves — hack, back, 
O, so far — yes, here were his chronicles. Three score years 
and more ago some one had sent up petitions for him — a 
mother, upon her knees beside his little bed. 

“Remember, Lord, that he is Thine, 

The sign of covenant grace he wears. 

Through erring sinful careless years 
O let him ne’er forgotten he, 

Remember all the prayers and tears 
That made him consecrate to Thee!” 

Then there had been a bond fixed once, ’twixt him and his 
Maker. " The sign of covenant grace he wears” And he 
had strayed, had erred, had himself forgotten, when any 
moment since, in all these years, he could have reached out 
his hand, and found his mother’s God, and his ! 

Yet here was another prayer coming up on his behalf, and 
in the saying of it, fervent and loving and believing, Joan 
fell asleep. 


CHAPTER XX 


AUNT HETTY VISITS TOWN 

A UNT HETTY was going to town on a visit, to remain 
a week or more, leaving Phoebe in charge at Half- 
way. 

Joan would have given hat and boots to be taken along too, 
and just for one brief delicious moment had thought Aunt 
Hetty premeditated it ; but the illusion vanished, J oan being 
informed instead that she was to be “company’’ for Uncle 
Garret — the only thing she had been brought to Halfway 
for, and all that gave her right to dwell therein, she knew 
that, without being told. 

The party had without doubt been a success, the eclat 
still lingering in Halfway circles, though no mention of it 
had ever been made by the Master himself. But the flavour 
of the feast must have tarried with him, for to Aunt Het- 
ty’s great surprise instead of making carping protest at her 
proposed excursion he even aided and abetted her departure. 

Though his consenting may have been somewhat on account 
of the success of the feast, it was largely because Uncle Gar- 
ret had two axes of his own to be ground in town, both of 
which could be safely entrusted with Aunt Hetty; for un- 
satisfactory as she was always presupposed to be from her 
husband’s standpoint, yet he well knew she had her own 
way of attainment, no more flagrant example of which could 
be mentioned than her late supper-party. 

One of the commissions was to order for him a suit of 
clothes, of superfine corkscrew West-of-England cloth. No 
other man in the countryside wore such expensive weaves, 
and there was only one establishment in all Halifax where 
224 


ATOSTT HETTY VISITS TOWH 225 

it could be procured. Tbe new stores, with bland and per- 
sistent salesmen, might impose another and a modem pat- 
tern upon an ordinary buyer, but not upon determined lit- 
tle Aunt Hetty, who would have the corkscrew West-of-Eng- 
land cloth or none. 

Garret Wisdom was a vain man as to dress, perhaps to 
make up for the long years of rough garb in the gold-fields, 
perhaps from vanity at being Master of Halfway again. Ho 
matter how sharp the spasms nor how painful the process, 
he was attired each day with fastidious care, shaven and 
shorn, fresh white cuffs about his swollen crippled hands, 
and a snowy kerchief in his top pocket. Fine feathers do 
not always make fine birds, as Phoebe rightly put it, and 
as no one knew more truly than Aunt Hetty who had borne 
the pecks and claws so long a time; but an untidy, poorly 
clothed husband, with his warped and querulous ways be- 
sides, would have been unsufferable, so she pampered to his 
toilet and dress. 

The other axe to grind, Aunt Hetty was not quite so sure 
of accomplishing, but she would make the attempt, and it 
was rather of a venture, anyway. She was to find out about 
Lisbeth’s parentage. Jane the Skipper, evidently had no 
knowledge of the girl beyond the day she had been deposited 
upon her high doorstep, for at her husband’s behest Aunt 
Hetty had questioned her concerning it on the day she had 
worked at Halfway; to no purpose far as Lisbeth and her 
history was concerned, although J ane had proffered much un- 
asked for information as to her opinion of the squire himself. 

Aunt Hetty had been astonished at the bitterness of her 
speech, and surprised to learn what Jane vouchsafed, that 
there had been much machination to secure the little triangu- 
lar piece of property that jutted into Halfway lands in 
brazen defiant thrust. She did not know how much money 
her husband was possessed of, but she hoped he was not part- 
ing with it all for property, so that they should perhaps be 
“land poor” in their last days ; and she was really glad that 


226 


JOAU AT HALFWAY 


Jane had refused him the extravagant sum offered for the 
cabin and its rocky bed that sat like a troublesome Mordecai 
at the Gate of his Halfway Kingdom. 

Why he should have any interest in the orphan waif Jane 
had picked up, Aunt Hetty couldn’t for the life of her 
imagine, but did not over-concern herself, since out of the 
commission thereof she would get opportunity to visit a par- 
ish she had not set foot within for many a year ; and the old 
doctor whom she was to question, having lived there all his 
long life through, would be able to give her news of many an 
acquaintance she had lost sight of, even though he should fail 
in the particular bit of information for which she was sent. 
It surely couldn’t be even possible that her husband was 
contemplating having the girl up at Halfway to live, for he 
had been full of wrath at her having been allowed there on 
even that one day. It had turned out very well, having Joan 
come back to them, though she had at first been much op- 
posed to that, but to have another girl there would be out of 
the question altogether. But at that Aunt Hetty ceased her 
speculations and her concern. It would be time enough to 
worry when the time came — Aunt Hetty never did things 
till she came to them. 

So rejoicing in possession of a larger sum of money than 
she had ever before been given, since it had to cover the price 
of the suit, and extra allowance for the extra journeying, 
Aunt Hetty set forth, driven by Pelig as far as the Corner, 
where she met the stage-coach that took her on to the rail- 
road branch. And Joan and Uncle Garret were left behind 
at Halfway, with Phoebe in charge of all three. 

Joan, after the first pang of disappointment at not being 
taken along, rather felt that every prospect pleased in the 
two weeks ahead. For one thing sure, she would be free 
of housework. Phoebe brooked no interference (she never 
termed it help) in her affairs, and capable and strong rarely 
needed any in the usual routine, so J oan fancied she might 
be free to roam about the place a bit. There would be only 


AUNT HETTY VISITS TOWN 


227 


Uncle Garret to read to, and to fetch and carry for, and 
should there he people to consult him in the majesty of the 
law he dispensed, then she would indeed be in luck, with a 
possible chance of getting down to the Island again, also. 

But the very next morning after Aunt Hetty’s departure 
Uncle Garret came on with a cold. Since she had that many 
hours the start of it he couldn’t blame it upon her defenceless 
head, as he usually did all the adverse happening, and the 
lack of a scape-goat made him doubly wrathy. If you can 
lay the cause of a cold off on some one else, there is some re- 
lief, but to bear both the influenza and the blame for it as 
well, is indeed a heavy yoke. 

It was, as he furiously averred more than a score of times 
on even the very first day of it, the very devil of a cold, 
seeking out all the weak and vulnerable places where it 
could lodge and breed discomfort. One day it held sway in 
flowing eyes and smarting nose. Next, with eyes and nose 
swollen from the copious streamings it settled itself into 
sneezing — “K-thrash-ub-K-thr ash-up !” All day long the 
rampant rasping sounds fell upon Joan’s ears, with a mut- 
tered curse not quite mild enough for a young girl’s hear- 
ing, accompanying each explosion. 

“Keep them back,” said Phoebe, after hearing a series of 
the convulsions attendant upon the operation. “Don’t put 
so much stress on them. You’ll burst your own ear drums 
and ours as well. Keep them back !” 

“Keep them back!” roared Uncle Garret. “How can I 
stop them! I don’t make them. You never had a cold like 
this or you would talk sense !” 

“I’ve had more than a few, as bad, and worse,” retorted 
she. “But I didn’t parcel them out onto other people as you 
do this.” And in the spasm that followed his rejoinder she 
made good her exit. But he refused to speak to her through 
the rest of the day, only consenting under dire necessity to 
having her settle him away for the night, though- she brought 
in for him, to have ready at his hand, hot lemonade, black 


228 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


currant jelly, and a glass of tamarind drink that went right 
to the spot ; for though Phoebe had always to free her mind, 
with plain speech, yet she never stayed her kindly hand on 
that account, nor hardened her heart. 

Next morning the sneezing had subsided, the influenza 
settling in limb and joint; and it being baking-day in the 
kitchen Joan was left in charge of the afflicted uncle, who 
weak and wrecked by the inroads of the disease, was like a 
sick and snarling child who has never known control. In the 
late afternoon Pelig brought up the mail and she was made to 
read through the “Free Press.” Items of news passed by with 
small comment, hut the editorial, and a contributed letter 
by a rate-payer, were animated fights from start to finish, 
Joan having to pause every few sentences for his interrupting 
invectives. Finally deciding that he would himself take a 
hand in the discussion, sick though he be, he ordered paper 
and pens, and to be propped up to his desk for writing, 
giving Joan her release. 

She sought out Phoebe in the kitchen. “You’d better take 
a run up the road before supper,” said Phoebe, noting the 
dark circles under the blue eyes, “or you’ll be coming down 
with it yourself next. It’s catching, a cold is, as fever, if 
only people believed it and practised what they believed. 
The one who has it ought to be shut up, and fumigated, if 
that’s how you say it — burnt sweet-fern is good as drugs for 
it, too, and a lump of camphor gum in your apron pocket 
to sniff now and then has warded off many a one for me. 
I’ve a piece upstairs I’ll get you when you come back.” 

“I wouldn’t like to have a cold as bad as Uncle Garret’s,” 
said Joan. 

“His isn’t bad as he believes it is! Half is influenza, 
and the other half is just Garret Wisdom and his spleen and 
venom. It’s a good thing for the children that he hadn’t any, 
for as it is now his angry temper will die with him. But 
I expect he’d have liked to have some one to leave his money 


AUNT HETTY VISITS TOWN 


229 


to, and Halfway,” said she, eyeing narrowly the girl to note 
if there was expectation of it in that quarter. 

Joan’s face showing no apparent signs of acquisitiveness, 
Phoehe probed a bit further. 

“He’s not likely to leave it to church causes, for he doesn’t 
favour Zion. Somebody strange will buy it all up, I suppose, 
for there’s scarcely one of the name left, men folk. There’s 
maybe a family or two out on the coast, the branch your 
father came from, hut so distant they’d hardly count as real 
family. Now if you were only a hoy you’ld have the name 
and the blood too, on both sides, and would make a fit owner 
for Halfway.” 

“O Phoehe, I wish I could have been a man, to have it! 
It made me lonesome first, and almost frightened, because it 
was so big and dark looking outside, hut I love it more every 
day now ; and that night of the lovely party, all lighted up, 
I just thought it was the most beautiful place in the world. 
And I hope Uncle Garret will live till he’s a hundred, so I 
can stay right here.” 

Phoehe smiled grimly. “There wouldn’t he anything left 
of you to love it with if he was spared that long. If you’re 
tuckered out now with three days of him, think what ’twould 
he for thirty years!” 

“But he might get over being the way he is, for you know 
how fine he was that night, and once in a while he’s good 
as can be when we’re reading some of the hooks he likes.” 

“Umph!” ejaculated Phoehe. “It could only he a miracle 
that worked it. Your Aunt Hetty is too easy going, to my 
mind, doesn’t rein him up as he should he. So he’s been let 
to have his tantrums worse and worse every year. He wasn’t 
that had when he first came hack. You’re too afraid of him 
yourself — hut run along now and get a mouthful of fresh air. 
Maybe you’ll see Pelig on your way back and get a lift up 
from the spring with the water.” 

“I wish he had good clothes, Phoehe, so he could have had 
them on that night at the party. Uncle Garret’s coats would 


230 


JOAU AT HALFWAY 


fit him, and he has such nice ones — would Pelig wear one of 
them, do you think? What does Uncle Garret do with his 
suits ? They wouldn’t be worn out.” 

“Do with them! Keeps them all in a row in that big 
wardrobe, won’t have one suit given away. All men hang 
onto their clothes, squires or what not, raise a row over every 
dud that their wives dispose of, and always were planning 
to use that very garment next day ! I know them, I’ve been 
around in different houses all my life, and they’re all the 
same. Don’t make eyes to Pelig, coat or no coat,” bantered 
she, as Joan started down the steps. 

“Why, Phoebe! He’s a hired man ” and then Joan’s 

face flushed with chagrin. O, why did she say that ! Phoebe 
had the very worst way of drawing out of her things she 
didn’t really want to say, or really mean. 

The shaft struck home, as poor Joan feared. “Hired!” 
mocked Phoebe; “I suppose you call me hired, too !” 

“I know you’re not,” cried Joan, eager for peace, “for the 
mailman said you weren’t, the very first day I ever saw you. 
He said you Vent and took charge’ at places, and that’s 
just what you do, Phoebe.” 

If Joan’s tongue had slipped, that ready wit within her 
knew how to make up for it. Phoebe was appeased, and a 
mollified Phoebe was beautiful as the sun after a storm. 

“I’m glad George and you know my station,” said she. 
“But hired or in charge I don’t like that free and easy way 
of calling a man the one if he gets low wages and the other 
if he gets big ones. The members of Parliament are hired, 
and paid, to work on their country’s affairs ; the parson who 
keeps us in straight paths, and the king on his throne, both 
get their wages ; and most of the men who are running the 
world to-day had to carve out' their own way by their earn- 
ings. So get that silly notion out of your proud little Wis- 
dom head, and learn early to value a person for what he will 
himself accomplish, not for what his father did before him. 
To my mind Pelig as an hireling at Halfway is mere of a 


AUNT HETTY VISITS TOWN 231 

man than the master who owns it and won’t control his own 
temper.” 

Joan was quiet for a moment, trying to put right her 
answer. “I don’t think I really meant it had as it sounded 
to you, it came out before I thought,” said she. “But you see 
all the people I had seen, before I came here, who were 
hired, didn’t seem to care about being anything else ; and they 
were rough and dirty, and I’m just beginning to understand 
how different it all can be. I was poor as could he myself, 
Phoebe, and had to work for people where I stayed, taking 
care of their babies, hut they were some relation, you know, 
and they didn’t ever really put me off with the people who 
did their other work. Pelig is some relation, but he’s dif- 
ferent even if he was not, for he reads a lot of books, and he’s 
nice and kind, and is polite as he knows how. And that was 
why I wished he could dress in better clothes, like Uncle Gar- 
ret does. Sometimes, Phoebe, I think he looks a little like 
him, even in those old rough ones, only of course he’s young 
and Uncle Garret is old.” 

Phoebe had a sudden thought. “You’re right as to that,” 
said she, “I’ve noticed it myself. There’s a big picture of 
your uncle when he was young like Pelig. It’s in the old 
loom-room.” 

Joan sat straight down again upon the door stone. “What 
is a loom-room, Phoebe?” she asked. “Aunt Hetty said 
something about it one day she was up in my bedroom; and 
I heard some of them talking about it that night of the party, 
when we were showing them about, you know; and Aunt 
Hetty told me just before she went away that she thought 
she would have it opened up for me when she came hack. 
But what is a loom-room ? And could you let me see it ? 
Where is it, Phoebe ?” 

“It’s a place where the looms were set up for weaving the 
cloth we all used in the old days, and it’s next to your own 
chamber, but has been shut up for twice and more as many 
years as you are old.” 


232 


JOAH AT HALFWAY 


“Why?” 

“0, that’s Halfway news,” replied Phoebe laconically. 
“It’s hung in dust and cobwebs now, but the picture shows 
up great from the high round window.” 

J oan thought it out for a moment. “How did you get in 
it, Phoebe?” 

Phoebe brightened — “nimble witted, like all the crowd,” 
thought she. “I’ll see if their venture is in her, too,” and 
aloud she vouchsafed this — “There’s a sky-light in the sloping 
roof of it.” 

“And could I get down to the sky-light ?” 

“If you’re steady-headed enough to get up to the ridge 
pole on one side and sit down for your start on the other, 
why it’s fairly easy sledding.” 

“But could I squeeze through the window, would it be big 
enough for that?” 

“You make me think of the old man who had two holes 
cut in his cellar door for the cats to run up and down at 
night time — a big one for the cat and a little one for her 
kits,” remarked Phoebe dryly. 

Joan giggled with glee, and gave the broad shoulder next 
her a good-comrade squeeze. “O what a goose I was,” said 
she. “What do you come down onto, inside, Phoebe ?” 

“On your feet, unless you upset in the going.” 

“Would it be wrong, do you suppose, for me to go ?” 

“You’ll have to be your own judge on that count. I didn’t 
reckon it harm for myself, seeing as I took nothing away 
with me. And many’s the day I’ve stepped off there, spin- 
ning on the old wheels and filling the bobbins for your grand- 
mother Joan when she was a young lady and I a slip of a 
child. She was a picture, sitting at her little loom ; always 
dressed in the brightest of clothes, and singing while she 
wove, gay and happy as a bird.” 

“Is it dark there now if it’s all shut up ?” 

“Afraid?” 

“I don’t think I’d be, if it was only just dusky, but real 


AUNT HETTY VISITS TOWN 


233 


black dark sometimes frightens me, the kind when you can’t 
see anything and don’t know what might he hiding in it.” 

“I sense what you mean,” said Phoebe. “Any real thing 
you can actually see, you can either try to meet it or run 
away from it — the fright is in not knowing, and so fearing 
all manner of bad things. Well, it’s not really dark up there, 
for there’s the little wheel-window left unboarded, and the 
skylight one, but the looms are big black things and they 
kind of eat up the light, though if you go in broad day it’s 
not too bad.” 

“When will we go ?” asked Joan. 

“Well, it’s not we who are going. I’ve been already. 
And the two of us away when Garret Wisdom calls would 
be a pretty how-do-you-do ! If you choose to try it for your- 
self, go, but don’t tell me about it before hand. I’ll be no 
party to it to aid or abet you. You asked me about the 
place, and I answered your questions; that’s as far as I’m 
going. It’s none of my business what you do at Halfway. 
Never ask anybody else to keep your conscience for you, take 
your own risks, and bear your own blame. There’s Pelig 
now. He’ll be soon away, so get your lift up with the bucket. 
He’s in awful late, nights, since I came, and he looks worn. 
Maybe in love, and off courting somewhere.” 

“She’s got to have something to lift her out of the ruts,” 
commented Phoebe, as Joan passed down the line, “or she’ll 
be a prig and a no-account, brought up here with old folks. 
I wonder if she’ll try the loom-room!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


NOTHING HAPS TO PEARLESS PEET 

T WO days passed, but no fitting opportunity offered 
itself for tbe exploration, though Joan had made full 
survey of the region, and the means by which she might 
reach her desire. The influenza, settled by now in nerve and 
limb, confined its captive abed, the various remedies of lini- 
ment and drug somewhat easing the irritatio.n of mind as 
well as of body, giving a measure of release to Joan from the 
constant attention required during its opening inroads ; 
though he never wanted her to be out of sound of his call. 

She was beginning to despair of a fit occasion for her ex- 
ploit, when on a Friday afternoon while Phoebe was upstairs 
putting the finishing touches to sweeping-day, up drove two 
men to see the Stipendiary. Prisoned with womenfolk all 
the week, as Uncle Garret expressed it, he gladly welcomed 
the advent of the men, and sick though he was, propped up in 
bed by pillow and chair, gave himself over to expounding the 
statutes concerning boundary fences and trespassers there- 
on and thereof, dismissing Joan from the wing rooms with 
short ceremony. 

It was her chance, and next best luck to having a chance 
is having sense enough to know it when it comes, and to use 
it. Joan had both. She slipped out through the long entry, 
heard the heavy tread overhead on housekeeping tasks intent, 
and thus assured of freedom both from above and below, hur- 
ried out the side door and around to the portion of the house 
where was her own chamber, and the loom-room under the 
sloping roof beyond. 

Phoebe, fixing a balky blind at one of the windows, let it 
234 


NOTHING HAPS TO FEARLESS FEET 235 


suddenly fall to the floor in her surprise and satisfaction at 
the sight that met her eyes. From the bow-sweet apple tree 
whose branches overhung the milk-house Joan was climbering 
upon the milk-house roof, and from thence up on the slanting 
one of the ell that formed the wing rooms. 

Phoebe’s own route had been a shorter, safer way, by lad- 
der, direct to the sloping one above the goal, but she had not 
vouchsafed that bit of information, so J oan had been forced 
to chart out her own more perilous one, and with steady head 
she clambered up the steep shingly slope, on all fours like a 
cat. At Phoebe’s last glimpse she was resting upon the sum- 
mit board of the roof above her desired haven, ready for the 
short and steep descent to the skylight upon the other side. 
“It’s a ticklish job to stop yourself in time,” quoth Phoebe to 
herself in half compunction, “and she may come to grief, but 
she doesn’t look afraid, and as a rule nothing haps to fearless 
feet. The best way to get out of trouble is not to get into it, 
but she’s mere than half way there now, and I guess I’ve 
no call to help her. She must learn to look out for herself.” 

The skylight had a narrow cleat below it which served 
as brace, and Joan’s feet struck it fair. So far, so good. 
The outer window for storm protection, projecting over the 
inner, yielded easily to her grasp and swung hack like a 
trunk cover upon its hinges. The inner one, evidently not 
repaired when Halfway had been reopened, having rotted 
away from its fastening, yielded as readily, opening square 
against the outer sash. 

J oan peered down, the bright hot sunlight above her mak- 
ing the interior below seem almost black. But gazing in- 
tently, with cupped hands to shade the brightness, she sud- 
denly laughed aloud with relief and glee, for directly below 
her sight was a chair with box atop it. 

Of course, or how else could stout Phoebe have mounted 
again to the skylight on her passage out ! And Phoebe had 
known it was there, placed by her own hands, but had not 
told — 0, that was just like Phoebe, Joan thought. And it 


236 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


would be nice if she was here again, now, for it still looked 
dark witbin tbe space below. But to give it up, with the 
corn and the wine almost in grasp was not to be even con- 
sidered, so down she dropped, holding tight by the frame 
above, just for one scary awful minute as she swung there 
wondering if something would clutch her by her toes out of 
that black well into which she was plunging. Nobody 
clutched her ; her swaying feet found the prop below ; steadied 
themselves upon it, and with a jump from off it she was safe 
within the old room. 

It was a large, rough, plastered chamber, half of its ceil- 
ing sloping almost to Joan’s height, the walls from thence 
down enclosing a long closet under the eaves, the whole length 
of the place, with several doors for entrances. She looked 
within, spider-webs festooned it, big round band-baskets sat 
upon the floor, and heaped in piles and stacks were books and 
pamphlets, rich prizes for a Dominion antiquarian. 

Joan was an opportunist by nature. “Those missing 
Belcher Almanacs!” thought she, recalling the unavailing 
search for them in IJncle Garret’s closets. If she could find 
those copies he wanted so badly, it might atone for her thus 
breaking into the old place; though now was no time for 
searching them out, if she wanted to explore the room through- 
out. 

It was darker than she had thought, for her eyes were not 
yet focused to the gloom. And were those things the looms, 
that Phoebe said were so big and black that they ate up the 
light ! It almost made them seem alive, and terrible, and she 
approached them with reluctance, great dark beamed struc- 
tures, two of them, one much larger and higher than the 
other, and a long seat in front of each. She got up upon the 
seat of the big old one and stretched her feet down upon the 
treadles, reaching up her eyes to the threads that led down 
from the yarn beam; dusty they were, a swirl of it around 
each, like a wrapping. She blew sharp breaths up them, and 
it flew off, and she stripped her fingers down them till they 


NOTHING HAPS TO FEABLESS FEET 237 


showed bright hued against their old dark reels that framed 
them in. 

And below was cloth, a roll of it, dust covered also, thickly 
as the threads, but a brush of her hand and sleeve swept it 
clear and it glowed and gleamed like the yarns above, except 
that in it was the sober woof across. What beautiful colours ! 
For her eyes, now grown used to the dim light could see them 
plain — browns, and blues, and greens like growing grass. 

How did it go ! What made it work ! Wouldn’t she love 
to learn how to do it ! Cousin Louisa had told Aunt Hetty 
she ought to teach her — And Phoebe had said her grand- 
mother, one of the other J oans, was a great hand at it. But 
what was it about it being unlucky ! If her grandmother had 
woven it when a young girl, as Phoebe had said, how old the 
cloth must be, and she wished she could see it spread out, but 
though she tugged at the cloth beam it did not budge at the 
pressure. 

She jumped down and went over to the smaller one 
across the room, but no piece was set upon it. That must 
be the one Louisa had said she could learn on. O, but she 
liked that big old one best! When Aunt Hetty came back 
she would ask her all about it. Perhaps she shouldn’t really 
have come here till Aunt Hetty had said she might. But 
she was here, now, so what was the use of worrying! And 
what a wonderful place it was. Here were two doors, and 
she turned and shook their knobs but got no entrance through, 
for they were evidently locked and no keys were in them. 
Where did they lead to, perhaps one of them into her own 
bedroom, though there was no door there that she had ever 
seen except the ones to the closets and hall. 

Then she remembered the picture Phoebe had told her of, 
and she looked around the walls. Some colour prints were 
there, pinned and tacked in irregular fashion ; one of a trou- 
bador under his sweetheart’s window picking his guitar; 
another of a gipsy troop halting for noon-day rest under the 
shadow of a wayside Cross, the women with kerchiefs spread 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


238 

across their faces as they tipped hack in repose against the 
stone, the men and children stretched below out of the sun’s 
rays ; a tiny dark framed one of the Princess Boyal with up- 
raised parasol ; and others beside, hut none of Uncle Garret. 

Phoebe must have been mistaken. And then she gasped 
in wonder, for coming in her survey to the wall behind the 
big old loom she saw hanging upon it directly under the 
Catherine-wheel window, a picture of a girl about her own 
age, and a boy a hit older, standing by a draped curtain of 
blue, their eyes looking straight to her glance. The western 
lights from the slanting window panes above threw a lambent 
ray upon it so that it stood out distinct from the dark wall 
behind, making the figures seem alive and aglow, one of those 
fine portraits of Valentine’s when he painted in old Halifax 
in Garret Wisdom’s youth. 

The small oval face that met Joan’s sight each day in the 
swivel mirror atop her high bureau, was not more like her 
own than this one of the girl that now confronted her aston- 
ished gaze. And the hoy beside her — was it Uncle Garret, 
that fine faced youth with his arm thrown in fond protecting 
guise upon her shoulder — O, what a wonderful, beautiful 
Uncle Garret ! and yes he did have a look like Pelig, if Pelig 
had been groomed as well. 

But who was the girl beside him ? The grandmother Joan, 
perhaps, who Phoebe said looked a picture as she sat weaving 
at the loom, dressed always in bright colours. Yes, she had 
on a gay frock now, of cherry, which glowed luscious next 
the curtain’s folds of blue. Joan looked and looked, thinking 
it out. Why would such a beautiful picture he away off up 
here ? It had a frame like the other big ones in the drawing- 
room, and the two smaller ones of Uncle Garret’s parents in 
his own rooms. Had it ever been down there with those 
others ? 

But the time was passing, she would not dare stay much 
longer. What else was there to see, and she turned away 


NOTHING HAPS TO FEARLESS FEET 239 


from the winsome Two upon the wall. Those big round 
rimmed things must he what Phoebe called the spinning 
wheels. Joan whirred their broad hands of shining deal, and 
turned the spinning swifts that stood beside them. Across a 
longer bench were hanging soft grey strands of wool, what had 
been round and fluffy rolls hut now hung tattered and 
stretched with the weight of Time’s long years upon their 
soft spirals. Queer teethed bars there were, like huge 
brushes, that pricked to touch — quill patterned hirchins full 
of slender box-wood shuttles wrapped close with their winded 
woof. What a treasure-house it was going to he if ever it 
should he opened up free to her. Why had it been closed, 
was there some mystery about it? 

A pink and gold flash from the dropping sun suffused the 
place, filtering through the bright hued yarns upon the big 
loom, lighting up the Two in the picture till they seemed 
like living breathing beings, inmates with her of the old room. 
Joan climbed again upon the long seat, her young slim arms 
reaching across the breast beam and stealing up and down the 
gay strings as if it were a lyre to touch. But no sound came 
forth to tell her how her own life’s threads were tangled and 
inextricably woven with the Joan of the picture and those 
other Joans beyond and between. 

“0, 1 hope Aunt Hetty will truly let it he opened up ! But 
I’ll never, never stay out of the lovely old place even if I have 
to get into it this way every single time,” thought she. And 
the very last look as she clambered out was for the Uncle 
Garret of the painting, so straight and young and handsome — 
a new picture of him to put next that one she had hidden 
away in her heart of the little motherless hoy, dwelling upon 
them, with brooding love, while with careful step she mounted 
her prop, and climbed outside the window with feet secure 
upon the cleat of wood below it ; up to the summit ridge, down 
with sure hut fearful steps the slope below ; across the wing 
room roofs with soft tread lest the sound should penetrate 


240 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


within; over once more to the milk-house with its o’er hang- 
ing trees ; and safe to the ground again. 

“My, hut ’twas great ! I just guess Phoebe will know now 
that I’ll take a dare. And she has got to tell me every single 
thing about it all, too,” said Joan. 


CHAPTER XXII 


“do what you set out to do” 

B UT just as Joan had turned the corner to the lane she 
heard her name called, not Uncle Garret’s shrill sum- 
mons, hut Phoebe’s crisp sounding one, and hastening to her 
found to her dismay that Phoebe had been suddenly sent 
for, to go to the Corner, to sit out the time with a sick person 
until doctor and nurse should arrive. 

“I’ve made most of the supper ready, in the pantry. Your 
Uncle would have me get him up, but he’s all right except 
what I can do when I get hack, which may he early and may 
be late,” said she. “He’s too weak to he towering mad, for 
he’s clear beaten out, wasn’t fit to see a baby, let alone men 
on business, and we’ll likely have our hands full with him 
to-morrow, for a setback is always worse than a poor start.” 

“O, Phoebe!” cried Joan in disappointment dire that she 
could not outpour her experiences. “I did go up there, and 
now I can’t tell you about it.” 

“0, well,” commented Phoebe cooly, concerned with her 
own departure, since the man was waiting with reins up-gath- 
ered. “What isn’t worth keeping wasn’t worth getting. If 
you’re shy about staying alone get Pelig to stop up at the 
house this evening.” And by this time Phoebe’s hat was fixed 
secure, and she was ready for away. 

Joan watched the waggon disappear down the long lane. 
The sun went behind a cloud, and a dark shadow fell from 
the pines upon the big grey house. Phoebe might be prickly 
and blunt, as she undoubtedly was, and Phoebe might be bluff 
and scornful at times, but nevertheless just to see her around 
anywhere lent an air of safety and assurance, and Halfway 

241 


242 


JO AIT AT HALFWAY 


seemed to loom lonesome with her comfortable capable pres- 
ence gone from out it. 

But there were chickens to feed; Uncle Garret’s, and her 
own and Pelig’s supper to spread and serve, and all that de- 
lightful chamber of mystery to think upon besides, so J oan’s 
spirits rose. 

From the invalid there was no special fault finding. He 
seemed utterly weary, abstracted, too, making no talk except 
to express satisfaction at his tormentor’s temporary absence. 
“She is that aggravating and aggressive with her wagging 
tongue and tyrant ways that I never know whether I’m afoot 
or a-horseback when she’s around,” said he, as Joan set his 
tray before him and placed upon the stand his fresh filled jug 
of water. And when he had partaken thereof and was dozing 
over his pipe, the one time when he needed no “company” 
and seldom even an errand, J oan ate her own meal, spread 
upon the table in the big dining room, Pelig not appearing 
for his, though she had waited long past the usual hour. 

Had he come, Joan would have been sore tempted to tell 
about her recent adventure, for the hazard of it had set her 
pulse aglow, and the treasure-room at the venture’s end had 
been almost like finding the pot of gold at the rainbow-tip. 
IT or did she see him at the spring later on, when she went for 
the night’s fresh pail. Often he was going down the road at 
that hour and would turn at sight of her to carry up to the 
garden gate her brimming bucket ; on her questioning would 
tell her what had been his tasks through the long day just 
shut ofi behind the high hills. 

Sometimes she had a book from Halfway book-shelves for 
him. He read with slowness, not being at school many 
months of his life, but read with avidity and understanding, 
and Joan often wished he could have been free to enter the 
wing room where hung the shelves, to choose for himself, 
instead of taking only what she had been reading. But the 
Master of Halfway rarely bade him inside when he came for 
his day’s directions. He took his orders or reported upon 


“DO WHAT YOU SET OUT TO DO” 


243 


the progress of previous ones, usually standing, or if a longer 
interview was necessary, sitting upon the wooden settle just 
beside the door. 

The Master of Halfway was jealous of his hooks. There 
were not many, for in the old days when his father and 
grandfather lived within its walls, reading matter was scarce 
in that new country. There was a Byron and a Burns, a 
Milton in verse and prose, Shakespeare and the Lake Poets 
— Swift, and Homer — and volume upon volume of his- 
tory and Penny Magazines, with two long shelves of miscel- 
laneous titles from which Joan cold cull both travel and 
story. All these were in their place before Halfway had 
been closed, and upon Garret Wisdom’s return the passion 
had been not for books, but lands. When he wished to read, 
these old ones sufficed him ; and the “Sets” that adorned most 
of the other houses were lacking here, for Uncle Garret could 
scent a book agent afar off, and assuredly he did not fall 
upon his neck with a subscription. The “Free Press” for 
the doings of the countryside, “Harper’s Weekly” for across 
the border, with the “London Times” and the old “Nova 
Scotian” under its new name for Capital news, kept him up 
with his own and the big world’s doings, and thus not glutted 
with overmuch information he turned over in his own mind 
the various questions of the day, arriving at his own con- 
clusions and rendering his own decisions. Woe be to the un- 
toward man who attempted to do Uncle Garret’s thinking for 
him. That was why he quarrelled so with the “Free Press.” 
— it was dogmatic in its statements. 

Joan had a Marco Polo volume for Pelig to-night, and 
“The Tale of a Tub,” which last she had not herself yet read, 
but it had a bright red cover, and large print, and in its title 
suggested an everyday atmosphere. Always she had to select 
in a hurry lest she might be forbidden. He had asked her 
to bring him two books, so that he could keep one in his room 
and the other where he worked. But he was nowhere in 
sight, though he had seemed so eager to have them, so Joan 


244 


JOAN" AT HALFWAY 


came up the path slowly, the glamour of her afternoon’s ad- 
venture fading, and the loneliness of everything settling 
down upon her ; pausing just a moment at the bed of ribbon- 
grass, as she often did if not in great haste, to strip the cool 
striped strands through her fingers. Somewhere down the 
road, probably from the children at the farmhouse, an alder 
whistle sounded forth its clear fifing call, and Joan wished 
she could answer it, or had somebody to talk with, or that 
she could go to the Island again, or see Lisbeth, or anything 
but spend alone the long evening ahead. 

Uncle Garret had smoked out his pipe when she reached 
the house, and was full awake from out its dozing dreams. 
“Jo-ann,” he called, as she came up the steps. And he said 
it with the Ann long drawn, and sharp. The girl’s sentient 
ear caught the special tone, and felt the presage of conflict 
ahead. When she entered the room she saw that he had 
pushed over his chair to an opened window, noticing with 
astonishment the unwonted effort and its accomplishment, 
the rugs that had spread the floor in his progress crumpled 
or flung aside. 

“Do you hear a noise, Jo-ann ?” he asked, his face turned 
toward the open casement. 

Joan approached, and stood alert for an instant, listening, 
then shook her head at his questioning glance. 

“Don’t wag your head for answer,” said he. “That’s all 
a jackass can do. The Almighty gave you a tongue. Use it 
when I speak to you. Do you hear a noise, Jo-ann ?” 

Just the veriest curve of that crooked smile showed at 
Joan’s lips as she thought and longed to dare say, as well, 
that he was talking so loud and rapping with his cane so 
hard that nothing could he heard beside. But she did not 
say it, bending her head instead, obedient to his command, 
listening intently. 

“Well, what do you hear,” asked he. 

“Nothing” 

“Nonsense,” replied Uncle Garret, “stuff and nonsense! 


“DO WHAT YOU SET OUT TO DO” 245 


You couldn’t hear ‘nothing.’ There are plenty of noises 
about to hear, all the ordinary ones ; hut there is a rumbling 
rushing sound besides, in the air somewhere, for several 
nights past. I notice it distinctly after you are abed and 
Phoebe’s clacking has ceased.” 

“Perhaps it might he the cold, settled in your ears, Uncle 
Garret.” 

He stamped his foot with rage upon the floor, his cane as 
well. “I did not ask you what it was !” he shouted, “I asked 
you only if you heard it. Do you ?” 

“There’s something that sounds like the mill does when it’s 
running,” said she presently. 

“Well, why not have said so at first, and saved our words !” 

“But how could it he the mill ? For that stops at six o’clock, 
and sometimes earlier, Pelig says. Why would it he running 
now ?” 

“That is exactly what I want to find out,” said he. “Go 
down the brook path, and up the hill one, until you strike 
the creek, and from the bend there the mill is in plain view. 
If you stand there, in the elder-clump, you can see whatever 
is going on and yet not be seen yourself. If it is anybody 
working the mill, find out who it is. This is my ‘turn,’ and 
no one else has a right at it day or night, for I have a big 
cut to he sawn. Hurry away or it will he getting dark.” 

Joan was aghast. “Why, it’s almost dark now,” she said, 
“in the woods.” 

“Afraid, are you ?” he queried. “Don’t he a child. You 
are old enough to carry through a simple thing like that.” 

“But before I could get hack it would he really dark, 
wouldn’t it?” 

“What is to hurt you in Halfway woods this time of 
night ?” asked he in kinder tone. “They’re not thick enough 
to harbour a wild beast ; not even a screech-owl would stay in 
their scant shelter at such an early hour. Hurry, and he 
off.” 

She moved slowly toward the door, reluctance in every 


246 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


footstep, but said never a word. And be could not but note 
it, the shadow over the sweet serious face that she turned 
toward him in mute protest at his stern demand. He changed 
his tactics, taking her into half confidence. 

“See here,” said he, “somebody lately has been robbing my 
timber-lands, and I think it likely that the same parties may 
be stealing my ‘trick’ at the saw-mill, for the creek is lower 
than it’s been for many years, already, and there’ll soon be no 
water to cut with, unless we’ve heavy rains. Nick Conners 
lost his own turn and he is likely trying to outwit me by 
taking night shifts out of mine ; the whole family is a band 
of thieves, and once I catch him they’ll be made to suffer. 
You understand, do you ? I want you to go at once. You 
need to do daring things. You must not grow up soft, and a 
ninny, afraid of everything unusual.” 

Something within surged to the sting, and before she had 
thought of the consequences she brought her afternoon’s 
sortie to refute the accusation. “I’m not a ninny. I was up 
in the old loom-room, to-day,” said she in splendid vindica- 
tion of her assertion. 

The long pipe he held in his hands fell to the floor, shat- 
tered in a dozen pieces, and he turned quick to the wall above 
his desk where hung his ring of keys. 

Joan’s glance following his, caught its import. That must 
be the key to the room, that long heavy one that had often 
met her eye, like the one in her own lock. And suddenly she 
saw in this thing that she was told to do a means to her great 
desire, and quick as her thought of it, spoke it out. “If I 
go,” said she, “will you give me the key and let me have that 
room opened up ?” And then she trembled at ,her bold re- 
quest, as well she might, for a thunderous “No” fell upon 
her startled quivering senses. 

“No,” repeated he. “But how did you get there this 
day?” 

“I climbed up by the roofs, to the skylight, and ” 


“DO WHAT YOU SET OUT TO DO” 247 

“Be gone,” said he, “and do your errand I” And sh r / went 
out from his presence. 

The summer sun was an hour down behind the hills, the 
dusk of early evening already beginning to fall upon the 
landscape. Joan hurried along the roadway till she struck the 
pastures, wide and free and open, the path from there on en- 
tering the light woods beyond the brook. It was not a way 
she often had gone, though plain to follow ; hut the gloom of 
the hemlocks and the sombre pines, young growth even that 
they were, “ate up the light,” like the old looms in the dark 
chamber, and there seemed no outlet ahead. 

Her sleeve caught on a protruding branch, and startled 
her as if it had been a hand stretched out to seize. A sound 
as of approaching voices fell upon her ears. Her feet stum- 
bled upon some protruding roots, she fell prone, and rising 
missed the pathway beyond, stunned, confused. A sudden 
fright assailed her, unreasonable, for the woods was hut a 
few yards through, when she would have been out in the open 
again ; hut the fear was uncontrollable, it mastered her, and 
she turned and fled back to the big grey house, and hurst in 
upon the old man, sitting still by the window, his head bowed 
upon his heavy cane. 

“O, I can’t do it,” she cried, leaning back against the door, 
breathing fast, and half ashamed, yet pleading and fearful. 
“It’s growing dark already, and I heard ” But he inter- 

rupted her, his ears and eyes deaf to her entreaty. 

“Always do what you set out to do,” said he, “if it is 
within your strength, and within reason, and this is well 
within both, for it is not yet night and you have no just cause 
for fear. To fail yourself now, and by your own fault, will 
confront you whatever else you undertake, and be a snare to 
your feet. Go finish what you started out to do, J o-ann, do 
you understand?” 

She understood, and without a word, but with head held 
high, went out from him once again. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE MYSTERY OF THE MILE 

T HE light was fast waning when J oan emerged from out 
the hemlock wood. She did not know whether she 
had been afraid, or not, for she was angry, a passion of tem- 
per against the great-uncle who had forced her to go upon his 
errand — a hot childish resentment and yet an older indignant 
wrath which covered all the days of his moods when he had 
provoked her young heart to rebellion by his irritating furi- 
ous speech and his haughty assumption of his right to bully 
and bluster them all. 

Thus her anger swallowed up her fears, and she sped 
across the lowlands, by now engulfed in a silver haze so airy 
and yet so dense that the brook’s babbling murmur from out 
it had a strange and eerie call; up onto the higher ground 
where in the early descending dews sweet fern and brake 
were pungent with fragrance, and the young slender birches 
pallid against the on-coming dark, like wraiths. Straight 
down the hill she passed, hugging in close against the old 
snake-fence that she might seek quick cover within its shelter- 
ing angles were she observed ; then across to the elder-clump 
where peering from its quick shelter she could see down the 
creek to the mill-bank. Uncle Garret had been right in his 
surmise. The mill was going full blast ! 

Years added to years had taken many tallies from Time 
and worn out many perishable things, but this old saw-mill 
on the creek falls, erected in Garret Wisdom’s youth, had not 
been changed in form nor in its manner of propulsion. A 
long shed-like building it was, battened with slabs, jutting 

248 


THE MYSTERY OE THE MILL 


249 


out over the stream that drove the simple machinery of its 
single saw, a company-mill, that sawed only for its owners’ 
necessities, each part holder drawing by lot early in the sea- 
son what was called his trick or turn, running it for himself 
alone ; often when the water was falling low working it night 
and day to get his required output. 

“Gang” and “rotary-mills” there were in other parts of the 
county, and a big lumber company operating not far distant, 
hut what cared they in the Wisdom neighbourhood where 
they lived out their lives as they had begun, prosperous, com- 
placent and high minded. If the company-mill, primitive 
though it be, furnished lumber enough for needed repairs or 
additions, why put up another, for save a barn here and 
there, or an added window or porch to the comfortable old 
residences constructed so solidly and amply from the heavy 
timbers of the early days, no new buildings had been erected 
for many a year. 

This season, to Garret Wisdom had fallen the last lot, and 
though he schemed for exchange with each of the others, 
chafing under the stroke of fate that compelled him to wait 
their time through, a grim and good-natured sense of unusual 
justice meted out made them unresponsive to his approaches, 
some few who had been oppressed as to mortgage and boun- 
dary fences feeling it a distinct and overt acknowledgment 
of equity that he should be thus last instead of first. But his 
turn had finally come round, Pelig, with another “hand” be- 
side, carrying on the labour ; while up at Halfway the Master 
fumed and fretted lest he be defrauded of his usual output, 
since the low falling creek gave sign of an idle mill-wheel 
all too soon. 

Yet here was the mill, at night time, running full speed ! 
Joan stole from out the sheltering clump for a better view. 
Within the old structure, hung against the low walls opposite 
the saw-gates, two lanterns were burning, lighting up the 
rough space, their gleam shining out in prisms upon the 
white broken water that dashed from under the whirring 


250 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

wheel and folded over the rocks below and twisted in and 
out the eddies. 

At the farther end a man was moving about, hewing and 
turning a log for the saw. Presently he hoisted the gate and 
took his seat upon the log and she could hear the crunch 
crunch of the blade as it crept closer and closer to him in its 
slow course through the timber. Uncle Garret’s trick it was, 
and yet somebody was without doubt using up his run, and 
probably. his logs as well. 

Joan had seen the Conners’ men only once, and it was 
hard to distinguish faces in the strange light diffused through 
the forest gloom, so she stole still nearer, clear out from her 
covert, watching for the man upon the ways to move. And 
when he rose, his face turned full toward the open end, she 
cried out with sudden relief from her tensioned fear and 
sight, for it was only Pelig, good, awkward, red-headed Pelig ! 
And all Uncle Garret’s suspicions and anger had been for 
naught ! He was probably hurrying up the work because of 
the low run of water, and with the sudden sight of him, the 
familiar face instead of all the eerie shapes and sounds along 
her dreaded way, the relief was so great that she forgot her 
instructions as to secrecy and called aloud his name. 

He had risen to adjust the log and was standing looking 
down upon the swirl of waters. At her first uttered exclama- 
tion when she recognised him he stood in amazement at sight 
of her there alone at such a time, but at her call of his name 
he stopped the machinery and hurried across the little foot- 
bidge to where she stood. 

“Anything the matter up at the house ?” he asked. 

“No,” answered Joan, “but,” and then an awkward pause 
fell between them, for suddenly she was troubled to know if 
she should tell Pelig what errand her Uncle had sent her 
there upon. 

But he did not wait for further words. “What made you 
come?” he asked. “It’s the night the miners go through this 
way after their pay, a rough crowd they are, mostly foreign 


THE MYSTERY OF THE MILL 


251 


ers, and half an hour ago you would have been right in 
among them. They go through the elder-clump always.” 

Her face paled as she remembered the voices in the hem- 
lock woods. 

“What did you want ? Phoebe could have come with you.” 

“She’s not there,” said Joan. The Parkers are sick. She 
had to go stay with them till the doctor could come. And 
Uncle Garret — and I — w T e thought we heard the mill run- 
ning — and I came down to see if it really was.” 

A quick suspicion came to the youth, horn of his knowledge 
of the stern master. “Hid Mr. Wisdom send you here for 
that?” 

Joan scarce knew what to answer. To Pelig she had 
never herself spoken of her Uncle’s tyrannical ways, sharers 
though they often had been of his displeasure in times when, 
the whole household arraigned, the storm would hurst upon 
both the unjust and the just. And she had an indefinable 
feeling that even now angry though she was at the task im- 
posed upon her, she should not lower him in Pelig’s esteem. 
But, struggling with this was a sudden shy consciousness that 
Pelig might think she was a bold girl, and had come of 
her own will to the mill to seek him out. So where should 
the honour lie, with herself, or the stern old Uncle who had 
forced her thither? 

Pelig’s bulky awkward frame sheltered an honest heart of 
gold, and though he did not dismiss his suspicion of the 
Master, he felt there was something he did not fully under- 
stand. Rough clad he was, yet a chivalrous gentleman in in- 
tent, eager to make her not only safe, but at her ease as well. 

“Guess I’d better tell you what’s up, here at the mill,” said 
he. “I’m sawing for myself, my own logs, and I reckoned 
it was no harm to make use of the power a few hours at a 
time, since it would go to waste otherwise. That night after 
the party, the Postmaster sent for me, and offered me a lot 
of stray logs there were lying round his timber land way up 
the creek, said I was welcome to them if I could get them out, 


252 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and thought they’d bring me in quite a hit, since he knew a 
purchaser for me. It was mighty fine of him, and I’ve been 
working at it, odd hours; these moonlight nights were great 
to get them down stream. 

“I calculated I’d ask a chance at the mill after the Squire’s 
trick was through, since everybody else has had their cut out, 
but the creek is running low and the weather so hot and dry 
that I’m afraid the power’ll be clear gone, so I’m just taking 
night time for it, cheating nobody, but myself out of my 
sleep, and I’ll make up for that in the winter like the bears 
do. I couldn’t stand it to lose the first real chance I ever 
had to make anything over and above wages. It’s sold al- 
ready, and I can run it down single, if the water’s too low 
to raft it. I planned to let him know when it was all done, 
but you can tell him now, if he sent you down to find out.” 

Joan did not answer that, for she had already made her 
decision as to where the honour lay, both here and when she 
should return to Uncle Garret to render up her account. 
“I think it’s splendid for you having a chance,” she said; 
“you know in the books it’s always some chance like this 
that starts you on, and maybe this is yours, Pelig. If it was 
daytime I’d like to see the mill working, but I think I’ll have 
to hurry back now.” 

“Just what I was thinking myself. I’d like you to see 
them, they’re whoppers of boards, but it mightn’t be the 
right thing to have you looking around the mill alone,” said 
Pelig, awkward and honest-hearted. 

They had not met before save in the common household 
interest, and seeing her thus it came to him sharp how 
separate would be their ways through life, so dainty and fair 
and sweet she looked to him, standing at the edge of the elder- 
clump, so removed from his rough garb and labourer’s ways. 
She should never have been sent out unprotected, so far from 
Halfway call, for though she had not said so in words he felt 
confident that she had been an unwilling messenger. 

“I’ll go back with you till you strike the pasture lands,” 


THE MYSTEEY OF THE MILL 


253 


said he, “if you mind the dark, for it’s falling fast, though 
the moon’ll be up in no time now; she’s just showing above 
the clouds there.” 

“O, I wish you would,” said J oan. “But you’ll lose a lot 
of time from your sawing, Pelig, to come all the way, so if 
you would only just stand here till I get really through the 
woods part, you could hear me if anything was wrong, for it’s 
so still here ; and O, there’s the moon now, and it won’t be bad 
at all. Please, Pelig, just do that and I’ll feel better than if 
you came the whole way.” 

“I’ll do that, and glad,” assented he, with fine perception 
sensing that she might he reluctant to he walking out alone 
with him. So she started away, and he stood where she left 
him until she had entered the hemlock woods, then quietly 
followed her, hut afar, lest he should disturb her by a foot- 
fall, though close enough to protect had aught affrighted. 
When she was out of the silver mist and up on the pasture 
lands in sight of Halfway, he returned to the mill to work 
with redoubled speed ; no sleep till morn for him, this night, 
for now that the Squire would know his venture there would 
be a sudden end to its continuance, and to-night would be his 
last. He would work all its hours through till the Master’s 
labours began next day, and if he worked fast, and surely, 
might finish his cut. So pulling up the best of the logs he 
hoisted the flood-gate for increased power and set himself to 
the race. 

Meanwhile, though neither he nor Joan had known it, they 
had been both observed and followed, and by no less a person- 
age than Phoebe, who relieved of her watch earlier than she 
had anticipated, was making return to Halfway. She had 
just struck off from the road when she heard the noise of the 
mill, and skirting the wood to find out who was driving it 
after hours, to her amazement saw Joan creep out to the 
creek’s bank, and Pelig cross over to meet her. 

The harsh castigation of a motive, and the imputation of 
it, sprang quick to her lips. “Out meeting Pelig, nights, is 


254 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

she, and I thought there was danger of her being staid and 
lonely !” 

They were too distant to overhear their conversation, so 
she waited in concealment to observe their movements. If 
Garret had been taken suddenly worse, or anything was 
wrong up at the house, Pelig would be accompanying her 
back, thought Phoebe as she watched them, but after a few 
minutes’ speech together Joan started away alone and Pelig 
remained behind. So Joan was not exonerated on that 
score. 

Phoebe hurried on through the wood and took the road 
again for a bit, until Joan should get a good start ahead. 
The mill running, after hours, with Pelig in charge and 
Joan stealing down alone through the woods to meet him 
there, was food for thought; yet she was loth, too, to believe 
ill of either, for Pelig had strongly appealed to her affec- 
tions, and the girl herself, shy and proud though she seemed 
at times, was most lovable and friendly when she broke 
through her reserve, and Phoebe had begun to incline her 
heart toward her. 

"Well, with both of them away from Halfway, Garret’s 
been left alone,” thought she, "and there’ll be something to 
pay when she gets back, or my name’s not Phoebe Shields. 
I’ll wait under the back window of the rooms to see how she 
meets it.” 

J oan, crossing the pasture lands, had no fears now, for the 
house was in plain sight, with nothing between to cause her 
dread. Pelig’s homely reassuring manner and the story of 
his project had dissipated her fearful imaginings. But her 
heart was still hot with anger at the old Uncle who had sent 
her upon her unwilling way. She felt, yet, the awkwardness 
of it with Pelig, and wondered what he thought of her coming 
thither. And if she should have been overtaken by those 
miners! A rough and boisterous lot they were on this off 
night, usually drinking, Pelig had said. What a cruel thing 
it was to put her thus in peril of them, and only her return to 


THE MYSTERY OE THE MILL 


255 


the house, in that first fear, had saved her from the encounter. 

Down at the mill too — what would she have done if there 
had been strange men operating it, and they had caught her 
spying upon them ? What could she have said to them ? Why 
would Uncle Garret not have thought of those things himself, 
and shrink from exposing her to danger, instead of sub- 
ordinating everything and everybody to his own desires and 
his own will, ruling at Halfway with an iron hand ! And she 
mounted the verandah steps a slim, defiant little figure and 
entered the wing rooms, every intolerant fibre of her being 
up in arms against the injustice of it all. 

Uncle Garret was sitting where she had left him. Some- 
times if mortally weary he would tumble himself off upon the 
couch, where under coverlet he could wait in comfort until 
made ready for sleep upon his bed, and Joan knowing how 
cramped he had been with pain through the day, expected 
to find him there; but he evidently had not even essayed to 
move, for his chair still stood in front of the opened window. 

He seemed to be watching from out it through the dusk, 
his head bent forward, and as Joan entered the room he 
turned quickly toward her, evident relief upon his counte- 
nance. “Well, who was it?” he asked. But she did not an- 
swer him. 

“Did you get close enough to see the men ?” 

“Yes,” answered she, niggardly of words, as yet, while 
gathering her forces for her spring. 

“Do you know who is working it, Jo-ann?” 

“Yes, I know who it is, Uncle Garret.” 

“Hoity, toity!” exclaimed he, “what are you after, minc- 
ing your words like an attorney’s clerk in the witness box. 
Answer my question, Jo-ann. Who was driving the mill ?” 

And then came her charge, and it was strange to note in 
her speech, though in a lesser degree, that same dominant 
determination of the great-uncle. 

“I’m not going to tell you, Uncle Garret,” said she. 
“You could make me go, spying for you, because you say I 


256 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


am adopted and that you have a right over me. And I did 
go for you, hut the one who is running the mill isn’t cheat- 
ing you out of anything that is really yours, and I’m not 
going to tell on him. To send a girl down there alone, when 
it’s the night the miners go through on shift ! And they were 
drunk !” 

The great-uncle’s stern face twitched with sudden 
emotion, and shadowed in fear, as his old eyes fell upon her, 
her slight childish form, the sweet face with the blue eyes 
shining from out it like jewels. What could she have done if 
surrounded hy that rough moh, to meet their gay and ribald 
banter, even though they had not sought to harm her ! And 
the dried out fountains of tender chivalry sprang up afresh 
within him at the thought. 

“Jo-ann,” said he, “I hope I am a gentlemen whatever 
else I am, or am not, and I beg your pardon, Jo-ann for ex- 
posing you to such a danger.” 

She did not stir, nor speak in answer. 

“You heard me, Jo-ann. There is only one person more 
unworthy than he who will not make an apology and that one 
is he who will not accept it.” But still she made him no 
reply. 

“You may go up to your chamber,” said he, “and we will 
talk it over in the morning. But you could easily have 
turned back when you heard their voices, Jo-ann.” 

And then the anger hurst forth, like lightning flash and 
crash of thunder. “I did come !” she cried. “I came hack, 
hut you sent me out again, and would not even let me tell 
you about it. And the only reason I didn’t really have to 
meet them was because I was afraid ; for they passed through 
the little woods just before I got down to the elders. You 
wouldn’t let me tell you about it, and sent me hack as if I 
was a coward, hut I’m not that. It’s only because I never was 
out in the woods at night, and they seem so big, and you can’t 
see plain, and all the queer sounds in them. I don’t mean 
to stay frightened of them all my life, though ; I’m going to 


THE MYSTERY OF THE MILL 


257 


get over it as fast as I can. And I’m not a coward, for there’s 
one thing I am not afraid of — and that’s you, Uncle Garret.” 

He struck sharp with his stick upon the door, hut she 
gave him no heed. 

“I’ve never had anybody to really love me in all my life, 
but I’ve never had anybody be afraid of me, like everybody 
is of you. To make a girl go down alone at night through 
the woods, — to spy out for you at a mill where men are work- 
ing !” And she passed proudly by him, her face averted, and 
went out of the room and up the long stairs to her chamber. 

She thought she heard a mocking laugh float out the entry 
and up the winding stairs, something like Phoebe’s scornful 
one, but Phoebe was not yet back, and it must have been his. 
It hardened her young heart yet more. He had tyrannised 
over her, had humbled her before Pelig, had subjected her to 
danger, and now he laughed at her ! O, how could he ! And 
she climbed up into the high wing-chair and shut her eyes 
tight, but could not shut out the sight of that forbidding 
countenance, nor the sound of the mocking laugh. She had 
never seen him look as he had this night — so grey and drawn, 
and yet so hard and merciless. Perhaps he would send her 
away altogether from Halfway. If he did she was glad she 
had dared to speak out her mind to him to show him she was 
not a coward. 

But presently another face shadowed that stem harsH 
visage, and she saw the radiant youthful form of the loom- 
room portrait, the glance bent so tender upon the sister by his 
side, the arm protectingly about her. 

And back yet farther, the picture Aunt Hetty’s words had 
drawn, of a little motherless fellow with nobody to pray for 
him. They pleaded for him now, the youth and the child. 

The mocking laugh died away; the stem-featured face 
faded from before her eyes; and she slipped from off her 
chair, and passed down the winding stairs, and along the dim 
lighted entry way to his rooms. 

The door was ajar, as she had left it, and the old Uncle 


258 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


still sat in his chair before the window, the soft moon beams 
his only light. A breeze had sprung up from the east, it 
fluttered out the white curtains, and she could feel its chill 
breath even from the doorway. How careless she had been 
to leave him sitting there, for he could not rise to close it, 
and Phoebe was evidently not yet back. 

She pushed open the door, slipped past behind his chair 
and shut out the cold blast; in return pausing for a moment 
upon the threshold, with a way she had on entering or leaving 
a room, a beautiful grace of motion like a bird a-poise in 
mid-air before its nest, all unconscious herself of the attitude, 
or that it had come down to her from those other Joans of 
the long ago. 

But the old Uncle knew the movement, and he looked up 
at her involuntarily, despite his displeasure, for he had ob- 
served it when first she came to Halfway, and had grown to 
watch for it — his mother’s and his sister’s very posture. 

Standing there, as he looked upon her, she met fair his 
glance; then with a way that was nobody’s but her own she 
blew him a kiss from her fingers, and fled again to her 
chamber. For Joan could resent an imposition, and Joan 
was valiant to fight, but the one thing she could not do was 
to cherish a resentment or to brood upon her anger. 

“If, when I wake in the morning, I’m sorry I said it all,” 
thought she, “then I’ll take it for a sign I was wrong, and 
I’ll have to ask his pardon, I suppose. But if I’m not, then 
I won’t!” And hearing Phoebe’s heavy tread below, she 
forgot her cares and fell asleep, in her white bed ; that sudden 
childish impulse of gesture flung at her antagonist in tender 
gaiety of defiance, dulling for her the sting and the pain of 
the night’s encounter. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


aunt hetty’s home-coming 

W HEN Joan was waked by the gold and rosy dawn 
across her window panes, without knowing at all 
what she was thinking, her very first thought was that she 
was glad she had dared to speak to him, for it was one of 
the things she had set her heart to do, to bring back to every- 
day Halfway that gay and courtly Uncle Garret of the party, 
and unless she tried it out, one way and another, how ever 
could she make it come to pass, thought she. So she took 
her “sign” and repented not, though still fearful of what 
interdict might be placed upon her. 

One thing sure she determined upon, she would keep the 
matter to herself — three secrets, Uncle Garret’s despatching 
of her upon his errand, Pelig’s project, and her own en- 
counter within the wing rooms upon her return; all un- 
knowing that outside beneath the opened window as she had 
talked had been ensconced a listener who heard the whole 
interview, a Phoebe with a meek and contrite heart, ashamed 
of her suspicions along the forest way, exulting in a militant 
Joan, and glorying over her triumphant attack. 

Such a Joan might be worth having at Halfway, thought 
Phoebe, and knowing that often a good meal lifts us up and 
over a hard place, spirit buoyed by body’s strength, there was 
spread for Joan when she came down, such a breakfast as 
had not met her eyes since that first one that had been made 
for Phoebe’s welcome of the little stranger. And Joan ate, 
and was comforted, and uplifted, not guessing the reason for 
it, nor informed, for Phoebe too could keep a secret, and was 
now nowhere in sight. 


259 


260 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


When it was time for the water to he brought from the 
spring, Joan departed on her way, returning with the brim- 
ming pail, as usual, and entering the wing rooms said her 
“Good-morning. ” 

Uncle Garret was propped up in bed, his breakfast tray 
upon the little stand. 

“It’s a lovely morning, Uncle Garret,” said she. But he 
answered her never a word. 

She took the gay pictured jug and filling it from the pail 
placed it beside his tray, wondering that he could have 
drained its contents dry through the night, nearly a gallon 
it held, and she watched strangely fascinated as he reached 
eagerly over for his dipper and three times drank it full, 
something almost pitiful in the stern, handsome old face as 
he sank back again against his pillow. 

It stirred her heart before she was aware. “Uncle Gar- 
ret,” she cried, “Fm sorry, Urn sorry,” though she had not 
meant to say it. 

“It is late to be sorry,” said he; “I cannot forget it, but 
I overlook it, because I can forgive a hot tongue from a brave 
man, and you did the thing you set out to do, not giving in 
to your fears.” He paused for a moment as though to give 
her chance for answer but she did not speak. 

“You were afraid of the dark,” said he, “yet did not 
fear to attack the one who is sheltering you in his home.” 

She turned away from the room, distraught, not knowing 
what answer she should make him. 

He called her back and she returned. 

He took from the nail above his bed the bunch of keys, 
and separating from the others the big heavy one, slipped it 
from the ring and passed it over to her. 

“It is the key to the loom-room,” said he. “Phoebe will 
help you move the heavy press that has covered the doorway 
these many years. It is yours, the key and the room, from 
this day on, and all that in it is.” 

“0, I don’t want it !” she cried. It was like fire upon her 


AUNT HETTY’S HOME-COMING 


261 


young head, defenceless before bis bard merciless manner. 
Why bad she ever dared to cross swords with him, to speak 
to him as she bad! And she did not take the key but 
clasped her bands behind her, as she stood before him, hot 
brimming tears splashing upon her cheeks. 

He still held out the key. “You bargained for it,” said be 
coolly ; “a good business bead, I see. And though I did not 
say it should be yours if you went, yet the going was a 
tacit pact. Always take what you fairly earn, Jo-ann. The 
place is yours, but ask me no questions concerning it, nor 
tell me anything of your searches within it. It bolds un- 
happy memories for me. Take the key, Jo-ann; you under- 
stand.” 

She reached out her band and took it And then, as 
with the kiss blown light from her fingers the night before, 
she broke the strain. 

“Uncle Garret,” said she, “it truly wasn’t the real you 
I said those awful things to last night, it was just to the 
Uncle Garret that you make us think you are, the one every- 
body is afraid of.” 

“That will do, Jo-ann. When you are entirely sure of 
your regret I will accept your apology. You may go now,” 
said he. So she left him, the big cold key clasped in her 
small warm bands. 

“Well, that squall’s over and nothing blown away,” said 
Phoebe in a hearty voice, joining her in the dim lighted 
entry way. 

“Why, I didn’t see you in the room,” exclaimed Joan. 

“I didn’t intend you to. And you didn’t see me last night 
either, when you were having your row out with him. 
Perhaps you might call it eavesdropping, but I don’t, in a 
case like that, and this, where you might need a champion. 
The Scriptures enjoin us to hear if we’ve ears to hear, and 
what’s the good of missing a treat if it falls your way! 
Now you’ve got what you wanted, the loom-room opened up.” 

“But I don’t want it now, in the way I got it, Phoebe.” 


262 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“0, yes, that’s how you feel while you’re young, but when 
you’re old as I am you will have learned that we seldom 
get the thing we craved just in the way we craved it. Be 
glad you got it, and make some use of it, to keep you happy 
in this big lonely house. Don’t trouble your head any more 
about your uncle. We’ll go up and see if we can get inside 
it right now while I have a few minutes to spare, for I want 
to give the house a go-over to-day and do a bit of extra baking 
in case your Aunt Hetty comes back before her time is out.” 

“Why, Phoebe, everything is just shining clean now, I 
don't see where you could find one speck of dust in the whole 
place! I don’t believe there ever could be any dirt around 
where you were.” 

“Well, there’s some right now, in your own chamber here,” 
replied Phoebe, “a roll of lint underneath your big chair, 
and we’ll have to make war on that at once. You get the 
wing and dust-pan and catch it up quick before it spreads 
around; dirt attracts dirt, always, like all else that’s evil. 
While you’re at that I’ll make your bed and then we’ll be free 
to explore.” 

And Phoebe’s stout arms pounced upon the huge feather 
bed atop the four poster, whopped and walloped and prodded 
its bulky mass that always seemed so unwieldy to Joan’s 
slight grasp, till the bulging heap spread out level as a 
board, patting and smoothing it back and forth after the 
covers were laid upon it, with the long round stick that hung 
at the bedside. 

“There,” said she. “’Twas a hillowy and a hollowy 
mess before I got at it, but ’twill do now. I sup- 
pose you’re hardly tall enough to get a proper purchase, but 
keep on trying to do it better each day. I don’t like to see 
anybody knuckle, even to a feather bed. Now, we’ll go at 
the press, and you’ll have to lend me a hand at that for it’s 
about three hundred stone, I guess, by the look of it. It’s 
almost the only thing we don’t move when we house-clean, 


AUNT HETTY’S HOME-COMING 


263 


and this chamber of yours was shut up tight till you came 
and Garret gave orders it was to be opened for you.” 

J oan lent a hand, and between them they tugged the bulky 
structure away, all the while her inner consciousness mak- 
ing a mute misgiving that she could not yet put in words, 
and scarcely herself understood, as if they were someway 
thrusting aside a veil into a Holy place that she had gotten 
to herself in a ruthless manner, wrenched from an unwilling 
hand. But she could not voice it, aware though she was of 
her spirit’s scruple. 

“Give us the key,” said Phoebe, as the press removed dis- 
closed the low broad door so effectually concealed behind it 
that Joan had not ever guessed its existence. 

The key lay in her small warm grasp, no longer a cold 
alien substance that chilled her with a portent of stern dis- 
pleasure from him who had yielded it, but a vital animated 
thing that was a part of her very self, that was hers alone 
and hers only, as Uncle Garret had said, a golden enchanted 
key that would let her in and out that treasure room at her 
own will. And suddenly as Phoebe reached out and took it 
from her, fitting and turning it in the ponderous lock, Joan 
knew that she did not want to enter thus, so boldly and 
hastily as if breaking through, and she sprang forward and 
stood with her back against the old portal. 

“Phoebe, don’t be cross,” she pleaded, with voice, and eyes, 
and every attitude of her small slight form, ‘ffmt I think I’d 
like to wait, till Aunt Hetty comes hack, perhaps. I feel as 
if I got it ahead of her, for she promised me she would have 
it opened up, if she could. And, so I’ll not really go inside 
till she gets back, and you won’t mind, Phoebe, will you? 
We can talk about it, and you can tell me all about the looms 
and wheels and things, and why it was shut up. You under- 
stand, don’t you, Phoebe ?” 

Her kinswoman paced off from Joan, and stood with arms 
akimbo looking down upon her. “Well, if that’s not Wisdom, 
tooth to toenail ! All ready to show you around inside, and 


264 : 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


now the door as good as slammed in my face, and you away 
off to the North Pole again! And after my taking up for 
you with Garret last night when you were abed and asleep, 
and another going over I gave him this morning before you 
were up, or in all likelihood you’d never have had the key at 
all ! As for talking about it, you can do yourself what talk- 
ing there’ll he done, but not to me, for I’m away to my 
work !” And Phoebe was gone, in dudgeon high from out the 
chamber. 

Joan crept into the wing chair and cried it out, for a little 
while; the tears that spring so quick in youth, when things 
are either so black or so bright, and appear to stretch so 
endlessly on from either. 

“I’m had friends with everybody in the house,” she said, 
ruefully, as bye and bye she wiped her eyes. “Even Pelig 
won’t like me for going down there and spying upon him 
last night. I’ll just have to fix it up though with Phoebe, 
someway, even if she makes me eat humble-pie,” and down- 
stairs she went. 

Delicious whiffs were creeping up from the kitchen. Joan 
followed the scents and found Phoebe in the big pantry, turn- 
ing out a pan of odd shaped cookies, soft and golden. She 
leaned her face down against the cook’s broad shoulders. 
“Phoebe, don’t be cross,” she begged. 

The broad shoulders shrugged, and shook aside the leaning 
face. 

“Sorry you signed off, I suppose,” sniffed the cooker of 
cookies. “Want to get into the room, now, likely, and crave 
company — but I’m engaged, you understand!” the last two 
words in exact intonation of the stem Uncle’s. 

“No, I haven’t changed my mind about it, Phoebe, but I’m 
sorry I told you in a way that you didn’t like. Sometimes 
I can’t seem to make myself say things the right way. Are 
you making biscuits too, Phoebe ? I don’t think even cookies 
could taste as good as your biscuits do. You don’t mind if 
I stay here a little while, do you ? It’s awful lonesome up- 


AUNT HETTY’S HOME-COMIHG 


265 


stairs, and I’ll soon have to go in to read to Uncle Garret.” 

Phoebe signified by a proffer of a hot cookie that she 
didn’t. Her culinary art was her vulnerable spot, and in the 
praise of it the atmosphere warmed up a bit. 

“That very first day you were here, after I came, I knew 
I bad seen that kind of shaped biscuits and cookies some- 
where, and you too, Phoebe/ but I couldn’t make it come out 
plain till that day down at the Island when I saw that funny 
chair-table, and then I knew for sure — ” 

“You’ve been to the Island! Well, that’s a piece of news, 
I some way missed,” interrupted Phoebe, sitting down, 
floured bands, rolling-pin and all upon her cooking stool. 
“Who did you see there ?” 

“0, both of them, and aren’t they the darlingest people ?” 
answered Joan, then remembering all too late the ban Uncle 
Garret bad put upon her lips. Well, she would have to get 
out of the difficulty now the best she could, and perhaps 
Phoebe wouldn’t really ask much about it — though she might 
have known better than to think that, for when Phoebe got 
through with a subject there wasn’t usually much left for 
anybody else to find out. But Joan took her chances on it, 
for she certainly wasn’t going to offend her again, after 
having only just made her peace. 

“Did you remember me being there once when I was here 
before, Phoebe ? It was Lisbeth and me. Mrs. Debbie where 
I was staying sent us down, and we stayed for dinner, and 
you were there keeping house for Uncle Amsey and you made 
biscuits and heart-shaped cookies. Perhaps you may have 
forgotten it.” 

“Perhaps so,” hut her listener knew she had not. 

“Do you ever go there now, to bake, Phoebe? I should 
think they’d like to have some of your lovely cooking. Aunt 
Orin, you know, looks more like books and things like that.” 

“O, you can’t expect every one to have the same gifts,” 
said Phoebe. “A woman who has held the ferule and speller 
for fifty years has done more than her share of the world’s 


266 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


work already, without stirring and baking. They have a 
young girl to help them, and they live plainer than you do 
at Halfway. Orin would rather read a book than eat her 
supper, let alone the getting of it, and Amsey is easy going 
and falls into line with who ever is in command. But that 
girl of Jane’s is lucky to have a home there. I was think- 
ing I might send you down on an errand since you know the 
road,” said she, quite aware of the obstruction but trying 
Joan out again. 

It was a temptation sore, the mention of Lisbeth, and the 
easy way of getting to see her once again, for Joan had 
found it hard work to stay away, and to keep from even 
asking about her or the other dear two in that Island home. 
But as she had been having a fill of experience in the day just 
past, she deemed it best to keep in the straight and narrow 
way for a bit. 

“I can’t go,” she said, “and I’ll tell you why, and then 
I can’t tell you any more. Uncle Garret said I was not to 
go again, and he didn’t want me to even talk about it to 
anybody, but I forgot, and spoke before I thought.” 

“If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes and heard with my 
own ears what I did last night, I’d say you were frightened 
and finicky,” answered Phoebe, “for the Island folks are 
your folks, as close as your Uncle Garret is; and to my mind 
he’s no call to forbid you going there even if he is out with 
them himself. But everybody to his liking. Your Aunt 
Orin is the ten commandments and the whole moral law as 
to rectitude, and I suppose you maybe take after her some- 
what, though I noticed last night you had enough of Gar- 
ret’s spunk and sparks as well. If you choose to obey him, 
it’s none of my business. Captain Nat is great cronies with 
Amsey and I get Island news that route, so when you want 
to know how they’re getting on down there you’ll know where 
to come.” 

“Why, Phoebe!” cried Joan, “here is Pelig coming up the 


AUNT HETTY’S HOME-COMING 267 

lane this time of day, and he’s running. Would there he 
anything the matter ?” 

He was in the kitchen before she could answer, and there 
was indeed something the matter. Little Aunt Hetty, having 
had out her visit with triumph and satisfaction, returning 
several days before her time was really up, had been stricken 
with paralysis upon the train, almost at her journey’s end, and 
George had shoved along at double the wonted speed of His 
Majesty’s mail to bring the word to Halfway, that the low 
easy riding phaeton might he sent at once to bring her home. 

O, then and there was hurrying to and fro at Halfway. 
The news struck hard with the Master. He had been think- 
ing of her in her absence, of how many things she did for his 
material comfort that Phoebe and the others could not; of 
her quiet and gentle movements; her effectual success when 
she sometimes essayed to have things her own way ; the flow- 
ers from the garden that she kept always fresh upon his desk. 
He had almost always forgotten to thank her for her favours, 
or to mention his appreciation of her gentle and faithful at- 
tentions, because usually there were so many things he wanted 
to grumble about, that he scarce had time to be gracious. 

Also he had been thinking that perhaps he would do dif- 
ferently when she got back, if she got the suit to his pleasure, 
and that other matter he had desired her to attend to. And 
there was really no reason for keeping that top-buggy shut 
away as he had ! She might as well have it for use now and 
then, especially when she went visiting down the river where 
the strangers there might as well see that Halfway could 
boast a turn-out ahead of their own. All this, he had been 
thinking. But here was Aunt Hetty coming back to Half- 
way paralysed, speechless, they said, and unable to lift hand 
or foot. It struck the Master hard. 

Pelig was sent first to Cousin Louisa, to ask if she would 
make ready to come over for a few days. And then the 
phaeton was drawn out, and the Squire’s own black horse 
hitched to it, and Pelig and Phoebe were starting away to 


268 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


bring back Aunt Hetty, Pelig to drive carefully tlie spirited 
steed that stepped so swift and even, and Phoebe’s strong 
arms and broad shoulders to succour and support the stricken 
one; Joan and Uncle Garret left alone at Halfway until 
Louisa should arrive. 

But just before Phoebe took her seat in the phaeton, she 
called Joan to her. “Doctor Zebra, from town, and a new 
special man from Boston are down at the Island to-day,” 
said she. “I had the news from Nat yesterday that they 
were to come. It’s Lisbeth’s knee they’re fixing up. Amsey 
and Orin seem terribly sweet on her and they’re sparing no 
money to have her cured. If you hurry down you’ll likely 
catch them before they leave, and they’ll come up here to wait 
upon your Aunt Hetty. So get off quick, and do as you 
please about telling your Uncle Garret, but don’t give it up 
no matter what he says.” 

When they had driven away, Joan closed the doors, and 
went in to the wing rooms. “Uncle Garret,” said she, “I 
am going down to the Island,” and she told him the errand. 

“Go, and go quickly,” said he, with neither question nor 
comment to stay her. 

So fleet flew her young feet over the old grassy road, that 
she was back before he had even begun to expect her: had 
seen the dear Uncle and Aunt and been clasped close in their 
fond embrace; had snuggled down a precious few moments 
beside Lisbeth lying upon her bed with the ailing knee en- 
cased in plaster and support by the doctors who had journeyed 
so far to help her; had tea and caraway cakes, served 
in Aunt Orin’s plain but stately style in the lovely 
round parlour upstairs, where were long Valentine portraits 
like those at Halfway, and beautiful old treasures of cabinet, 
and trinket, that Joan would fain have lingered to examine 
had not Aunt Hetty’s sorrowful home-coming taken first 
place in her heart. 

“We have hungered for you, my precious,” Aunt Orin 
had said as they walked out down the garden paths, when 


AUNT HETTY’S HOME-COMING 


269 


Joan was returning. “But it was best not to force your 
way, it will come around all in good time, I have no 
doubt. And I like it that you bring no tales to me of Gar- 
ret or of Halfway affairs. We love our word and our 
honour, little Joan, better than we do our life, and though 
you are young yet, and can not fully understand its high 
import, it makes me glad to see you turning toward it. Keep 
it for your fire to warm your heart, keep it for your lamp 
to light your path, keep it for your star to lift your eyes to- 
ward — your high honour to your God and to your self. The 
world and the world’s aims will seek to smother your fire, 
and to put out your light, but the star above their reach is 
unquenchable. Follow its gleam, and go on in the straight 
and narrow path of its course, for some there must be to 
walk it or the way would be lost to mankind.” 

And Joan, though not having the wise words illumined for 
her as the older woman had by her long life’s experiences, 
yet reached out toward their import, and as far as her ca- 
pacity within her lay, dwelt upon them for strength as she 
sped back over the old road. 


CHAPTER XXV 


m THE JOY HER SPIRIT FLED 

T HEY all felt that Aunt Hetty could not live out the 
day. So many days she had met at dawn, and seen 
through to the close, not all of them golden and shining with 
joy, hut most of them content and peaceful, for Aunt Het- 
ty’s nature had been an untroubled one — and gently comes 
the world to those that are cast in gentle mould. But this day 
that had dawned so clear and glorious, she was not to see 
through. 

It was now three weeks since she had been brought home 
to Halfway in the shining soft-cushioned phaeton, steadied 
by Phoebe’s strong support, and carried up the long stairs 
by Cousin Alexander’s stout arms to her clover scented cham- 
ber. Alexander and Louisa had already arrived when Joan 
returned from the Island, the awe and the sadness of Aunt 
Hetty’s coming lifted by their presence, for where Alexander 
and dear Cousin Louisa were, dwelt calm and confidence. 

The two physicians who soon followed from the Island had 
tarried several days within the big house, at the Master’s 
request, sitting at her bedside and doing all within their 
power for aid, but from the very start they had given no 
hope of her recovery ; her collapse had been complete. 

Most all the kindred women had come to proffer their serv- 
ices, and the neighbouring folk beside; that last attention 
Death ever claims, and receives, because so many of us re- 
member with regret the calls we should have made, the aid 
we might have given, hastening feverishly to offer before it 
be yet too late. All had stayed for dinner or tea, and had 
their visit at Halfway, visits which little Aunt Hetty could 
270 


IN THE JOY HER SPIRIT PLED 


271 


now never pay back. Nor bad sbe apparently even known 
tbeir presence there, for save a fitful moment or two sbe 
bad not been conscious, nor uttered a word since ber return. 

Hut while these others came and went, Phoebe and Cousin 
Louisa stayed on, Phoebe in charge of the household affairs, 
and Louisa in the sick-room. Always there is that one per- 
son in every chamber of Death, out of the many who may 
be about besides, the one who takes the lead ; turns the hot 
pillow, fills afresh the glass upon the stand, smoothes the 
cold hands outside the coverlet ; tells in calm voice the varied 
and various incidents of other sick beds; keeps the balance 
to earth, lifts to Heaven, and closes the eyes when comes at 
last the end. 

So frail and small the little Mistress of Halfway looked 
this mom, lying on the big mahogany four-poster with its 
canopied top; scarce breathing. Joan had stolen into one 
of the guest-rooms, where the prized Rising-Sun quilt had 
been laid when Aunt Hetty had finished its piecing, and had 
brought it in and spread it upon the sick bed. Its red and 
gold radiating stripes sent out a warm glow of colour against 
the snowy coverings; and from the long narrow windows 
each side the four-poster the elms and maples cast the same 
lambent light throughout the quiet place. 

It was Phoebe who took the sad word to the Master, a 
quiet, chastened Phoebe, who made only the brief announce- 
ment, and came out the wing rooms, leaving him alone 
with his thoughts. 

Presently he called her, and she came hack, as quietly. 

“Draw me out to the stairs,” said he. “I am going up.” 
“No objections!” as Phoebe’s surprise showed in face and 
sudden start. “I have made up my mind, and I want no 
help, nor onlookers, you understand! I am ready now.” 

And her tongue and her spirit tamed in this presence of 
Death, all silently she made clear the pathway for his 
broad chair, pulled him out, and left him at the foot of the 
winding stair. 


272 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Stealthily, now and then, she stole in through the entry- 
way, to watch his progress. 

Now he was out of his chair npon the lower stair; now a 
few steps up ; now a little farther on ; then at the rounding 
bend, and there because he had to make a hand over turn he 
was upon his knees, when she looked. 

“For all the world like a pilgrim mounting to his shrine,” 
she thought, and vaguely wondered if perchance it might 
shrive his soul to meet what lay ahead in this sad day. 

It must have been full half an hour before he reached the 
top-most stair, and through all that time had uttered no word, 
though he must have borne pain terrible and wrenching when 
rounding round the curves, staying with one hand and the 
sound leg while he drew up the lame limb to the step above. 
But he had made no moan. 

When he reached the landing on the floor above, he rapped 
upon the banister, and Phoebe, listening, heard it quick, 
and carried up his chair, helping him upon it — none too soon, 
for his face was white and drawn with agony and exhaustion, 
great beads of perspiration standing out upon his brow and 
even upon his crippled hands. 

“I would scarcely have believed it had you told me he 
could do it,” said Cousin Louisa, when Phoebe went in to 
take the word to the sick-room while Garret Wisdom rested. 
“It may do him great harm, but it cannot hurt dear Hetty, 
for she has hardly breathed to show, since daylight, and is 
not likely to recognise any of us again, though they often do 
rally unexpectedly at the last moment. Fll go across in lit- 
tle Joan’s chamber and sit while you draw him in. There is 
nothing to do for her, but some one to be at hand if the 
end should come, and Garret can stay beside her now.” 

So Garret Wisdom kept the watch for the messenger who 
was to come that day to Halfway. 

Cousin Louisa went in once to speak with him, but did not 
remain, for he made no speech beyond the necessary civilities. 

The chamber brought back memories to him. It had been 


IN THE JOY HER SPIRIT ELED 


272 


his mother’s room when he was a child, before his older days 
when his parents had gone down to the wing rooms which he 
now occupied since his crippled condition ; and he had never 
been able to mount the stairs since his wife had chosen this 
for her own. When he was ailing and needing special at- 
tention she remained down to care for him, but usually ho 
wished to he alone, and so she had closed the bedroom oc- 
cupied when first they came to Halfway, choosing instead this 
large airy one with luxury of space that satisfied the craving 
within her, born from out the small cramped quarters of her 
other homes. The massive bed was in the very centre, and 
the heavy bureaus and presses were of the same wood, as were 
the two wing chairs that sat upon either side the windows. 

While he thought, back with the past, striving to recall his 
mother’s presence within the place, he watched that small 
white face upon the pillows, eagerly intent to see if some look 
of consciousness or recognition would pass across it before 
she left on her long journey. 

On an ottoman almost within reach of his hands was hung 
her best silk gown, the grey one she had worn at the party, 
some soft white clothing, and the little shoulder cape with 
the gay silken fringe that she had liked so well to don, 
all ready for her robing. Tall spikes of spicy stocks and 
fragrant phlox were upon the dark old bureaus and on the 
window sills, all the air sorrowfully sweet with their heavy 
scent. 

How and again he spoke aloud her name, sharply, because 
he had not used another tone for so long, the masterful 
ring in it despite the real concern and compassion that lay 
beneath, and with an almost impatient note that she did not 
answer his call. 

Such a seamed and wrinkled little face, the one he watched, 
the lines deep and crossed and showing thus plain because 
there was neither speech, nor glance of eye, to relieve or mask ; 
the weeks of pain beside, adding to their depth. 


274 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Toward late afternoon she seemed to stir, and the hus- 
band bent eagerly forward. 

“Hetty,” said he, but no answering glow showed upon 
her face. 

“Hetty,” again, as her eyelids fluttered faint hut lifted not. 

“Hetty — dear wife,” the last two words low, and shy al- 
most, as from lips all unused to tender speech. 

“Dear wife !” He had only spoken it once before in their 
life together, and that on the day they had come to Half- 
way to live, when he had turned the big key in the latch of 
that broad front door, and swinging it inward, both portions, 
had stepped with her inside the fine old home that had been 
his father’s and his grandfather’s before him; the intense 
feeling of the pride within him stirring his inmost being 
to that one single tender expression for the woman who was 
to share with him his new life there. 

Just that once, and never again ; starving her all the years 
since, with crusts of common sense, and practicability, and 
censure, and silence ; when they might have feasted so royally 
upon sweet and dear expression of married love. 

She heard it now, again, though was forever past answer- 
ing it, in speech. But a fitful smile lighted the dull still 
face, a sigh as of satisfaction escaped her lips that parted as 
if a breath had blown them. And in the joy her spirit fled ; 
and she was gone — as far as a ghostly moon or star from his 
call and care. 

In that instant, too, that release from earth, her little 
sick and wrinkled face bloomed like a flower, the lines 
smoothed out, full grew the fallen cheeks, and calm and fair 
she lay upon her pillow as if young and happy and dreaming 
of the sweet words whispered in her ear. 

They had opened wide the great front door, in the old 
custom, that the soul might have easy exit. There was no 
sound of footfall down the long winding stair, nor could one 
who watched have seen a form flit through the broad old 
hall — no gleam of white wings given to mark her way — 


m THE JOY HER SPIRIT ELED 275 

but Aunt Hetty was gone from Halfway; only her small 
frame of clay left upon the high four-poster. 

Joan was away when the end came, at the Post Office, 
and on to Cousin Louisa’s for some errands; Louisa thus 
wisely planning that she might not see nor know the last 
offices of Death, so often dread and fearful to the young who 
walk only by sight, and not by faith. When she 
came back to Halfway, Aunt Hetty looked dearer and 
sweeter in death than she had ever looked in life, robed so 
grandly in her best gown, as she had herself desired and fre- 
quently expressed, although a fashion all unusual in the 
countryside. 

“Lor all the world as if she were dressed for away on her 
visits,” said Phoebe to Louisa as they stood with Joan in the 
still chamber. 

“Let us think it so,” said dear Louisa in tranquil phrase ; 
“for in her Lather’s House-of-many-mansions surely her 
gentle spirit will find place to wander at her will.” The 
thought came to Joan as a vision, Aunt Hetty in and out 
among the many mansions ; and it soothed for her that first 
sting of Death. 

“Send Jo-ann to me,” Uncle Garret commanded in the 
evening. Pelig and the man at the gates had carried him 
back to his rooms, and there had been many things for him 
to consider and to do in the hours since, but now the arrange- 
ments all were decided upon, and Pelig had gone forth to 
carry them out. 

A small fire burned upon the hearth-stones. The old Uncle 
sat up close before it, though it was a warm-breathd night 
outside. But the drawn shutters and blinds made the 
house seem cold and shadowy, and J oan was glad herself to 
see the blazing faggots. 

He pushed with his stick a low chair toward the hearth, 
in strange new courtesy. “Sit there,” he said, “and after you 
have found me Wordsworth you may read me his sonnets.” 

She found the volume and sat down, but with reluctance 


276 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


within her heart, for how could she steady her voice to read, 
so soon after Aunt Hetty had left them. Thus she thought, 
and almost as if it were careless and neglectful so to do. 

But Uncle Garret was wiser, and knew the use that in 
measured language lies; that often out in the dreary Klon- 
dike regions, working in the frozen gravel of the valleys 
or along the streams within the gulches, he himself would 
have lost his mind hut for remembrance of some fine English 
verse. And recalling it he told her of a night through and a 
day through and a night again, those short-lived days when 
the sun showed only a few hours above the horizon, while he 
waited, and paced, and guarded his treasure boxes of nuggets 
and his sacks of shining dust till the boat should come, he 
had repeated over and over some stirring storied poem; or 
these sonnet heights ; the pictures they brought to those deso- 
late wind-swept wastes, easing the tension, their argument 
lifting and leading his mind above the sordid search and 
lust of gold, thus preserving to him his life and his reason. 

When he had finished the recital, he bade her read ; while 
she read, sitting with hands crossed upon his stick, gazing 
into the fire, and far beyond. 

She could not reach to the sonnet's heights, in thought, 
hut they were like a string of pearls in expression and 
imagery, and Joan’s mind that visualised so plainly caught 
their import thus, and was up-drawn. When she came upon 
“While not a leaf seems faded,” Uncle Garret took up the 
words with her, saying them to the end ; when he had finished, 
bowing his head down upon his hands that rested over his 
stick, not asking her for more, nor making speech with her. 
So Joan closed the hook. “Will that he enough?” she asked 
after a little time of silence. 

“It is enough,” he answered ; “you may go now.” 

She placed the volume hack in its shelf, picked up a scat- 
tered paper here and there upon the tables, folding them in 
snug stack as was her wont, lingering a moment, loth to leave 
him so alone upon such a night, yet knowing full well that 


IIsT THE JOY HER SPIRIT FLED 


277 


had he wished her to remain longer he would have so signi- 
fied. Though he had not done so in actual ministration of 
his own, yet the reading he had asked of her and the ponder- 
ing upon the fine verse, had comforted her, and himself as 
well, lifting them above the sharp pangs of those first lonely 
hours when Death was in their midst. 

She laid some fresh sticks upon the fire, trimmed the 
soft flamed candles upon the high mantel and on the stand 
beside his chair, seeing to her surprise that his jug was empty 
and remembering with consternation that she had not been 
to the spring since her return from Louisa’s. Often in an 
evening’s length he would drain it dry, yet now he had been 
left without for hours. She recalled having seen him stretch 
out his hand several times toward the stand while she had 
read, and had vaguely wondered why he did not drink, but 
bent close upon the unusual matter of the reading, had not 
given it further thought, at the time. 

How could he have got on so long without it? Yet he had 
not asked for it nor rebuked her for neglect. “Uncle Gar- 
ret !” she cried, “O, I am so sorry I forgot. I’ll get the water 
now,” and she started for the outer door. 

But he stayed her, with his own hand reached out, that 
fell upon her arm. 

“It is dark for you to go there, now,” said he. “Pelig 
will get it when he returns.” 

Her first hot impulse was to start away from his restrain- 
ing hand, in retort at the sting mayhap implied, but that 
shadow of Death upon the house, and the pathos of the 
rigid lonely figure before the old hearth cooled her hot 
thought. She drew her arm up till her small warm hand 
rested against his own. “Uncle Garret, I am — not afraid 
to go,” she said. 

It strangely moved him, her clear sweet voice with the 
wistful note, her hand upon his own, and her attitude before 
him. There had not before been a reference made by either 
to that night when she had been sent to the mill, and this 


278 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


unexpected allusion, not really intended on his part, was 
troubling to them both. How comforting it would have been 
could he have stretched out his arms and drawn within them 
for atonement this small lonely grandchild of his sister Joan, 
and some such longing stirred within herself as she stood be- 
fore him waiting for his decision. 

“1 believe that you would not be afraid,” said he, “but 
this time we will have the water brought up by Pelig. Good- 
night, Jo-ann. Go sit with you Cousin Louisa awhile.” 

“Good-night,” said she, and went her way, wistful still, 
and wondering if he would have her stay on at Halfway, 
with Aunt Hetty gone. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A LAND WITH RADIANT GLORY FRAUGHT 

I T was a grand funeral. “Have everything of the best,” 
said the Master of Halfway as he made the arrange- 
ments for it with Alexander; and no expense was spared. 
At the service he sat in his high-hacked chair, at 
the head of the broad old hall, arms folded upon his breast, 
eyes straight ahead, as who should say, “Here am I, in the 
house of my fathers; what is to he said and done shall he 
done in my sight and hearing.” 

Beside him, upon his right, sat Joan, at his order, and 
at his left was another chair, which when first he noted he 
had hade removed, hut Joan had leaned forward and said 
something to him in low tone and the command was not exe- 
cuted. There were no special mourners besides, hut nearly 
all who gathered there from near and far had some claims, 
in one way or another, upon the Wisdom name or Aunt Het- 
ty’s own family, the assemblage filling the lower rooms of 
Halfway. 

Just before the minister spoke the opening words of the 
service another footstep sounded upon the door stone out- 
side, and Pelig entered, his rough loose coat buttoned close 
up to cover the coloured shirt and tie, the worn cap that 
usually set well back on his red head, held in awkward grasp 
between both hands. He paused an instant between the door- 
ways of the big front rooms, looking them hurriedly through, 
then seeing the two occupants at the head of the hall he went 
directly forward toward them, and lifting the vacant chair 
at the Master’s left, drew it back a little and seated himself 
upon it in quiet and solemn mien. 

279 


280 


JOAN" AT HALFWAY 


The shadow of a frown passed over the impassive 
face of the Squire as Pelig approached, but Pelig did not 
flinch at the glance, and at the first low murmur of the 
prayer dropped his eyes to the floor, nor raised them again 
the service through. 

Presently they were come to the last hymn ; the low hushed 
voices, most of them thin and old, singing with sad strain, 
for it had been given out as Aunt Hetty’s favourite, and they 
sang for her remembrance. 

“There is a La-a-and mine eye hath seen, 

In visions o-o-of enraptured thought, 

So bright that a-all which spreads betwe-e-en, 

Is with its radiant glo-ory fraught, 

Is with its ra-a-adiant glory fraught.” 

And while the low thin voices carried on the second stanza 
little Aunt Hetty was being taken out from her high place. 

“Its skie3 are no-o-ot like earthly skies, 

With varying hu-u-es of shade and light, 

It hath no ne-e*ed of Suns to rise. 

To dissipa-aate the gloom of night, 

To dissi-pa-aate the gloom of night.” 

She was out of Halfway now, starting down the grassy 
drive of the grand old front entrance, the balm o’ Gilead 
branches with glistening leaves stretching over head like 
crossed swords of honour above her way. 

“Full as fine as a queen might ask,” said Phoebe, low, 
to Cousin Louisa, as they watched from a window the 
cortege winding its course down the avenue on the long 
three miles pace to the burying-ground, only they two left 
behind with the Master, even Joan, according to the usage 
of the countryside, following in the procession. 

“Hetty would have enjoyed her own funeral if she could 


A LAND OF RADIANT GLORY 


281 


only have seen it. He scrimped her nothing, I’ll say that, 
through sickness nor death. Maybe ’twas love, and maybe re- 
morse, and mayhap ’twas pride, but it showed his respect, 
whichever it was, and she deserved it, for she’d the heavy 
end of that marriage, though she made no complaint and had 
her own way of carrying it. We’ll miss her around the 
place.” Thus with a last kind word was the little mistress 
let go from Halfway where she had loved to dwell. 

It was a custom for the nearest of the mourners to stay 
behind after the burial service was at end, to see that the 
new grave should be mounded well, and left in order. Sev- 
eral of the kinsfolk had remained, visiting their own plots 
and examining head stones erected since they last were there. 
But finally all had departed save Cousin Alexander, and 
Joan who had driven out with him, and would return with 
him, to Halfway. 

It was Joan’s first visit to such a place, and it terrified 
her, it choked her, and filled her with stubborn protest at 
death, this side of which she had never before known. In- 
deed never before had she seen it at all, except in a strange 
passing procession that did not touch her, nor interest save 
with its pageantry. 

Aunt Hetty taken from her soft warm home and put into 
the cold ugly earth-bed where the cruel clumps fell with 
echoing thud upon her ! The awful mystery of it brought 
forth sobs and tears; and Alexander, observing, proposed 
that she wander off by herself a bit till he should be through 
what was required of him. 

The afternoon sunshine was slanting over the weather- 
greyed wooden pickets that fenced in many of the plots; the 
grass of the enclosures high within, the wind running through 
among its thin stalks. The underbrush of the lowlands as 
they had driven along had been aflame with the first light 
touches of frost, but up there on the high sheltered side-hill 
the spikes of golden rod were still glowing; and here and 


282 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

there clusters of late briar-rose bloomed ’gainst the grey fence 
rails. 

, A city cemetery is a dread and lonely place in its splendour 
of statue and flower, with strange names and varied upon 
the head-stones. But a country graveyard is a dear and 
friendly spot, the families of the parish clustered in close 
groups, the same name recurring again and again, all to- 
gether at last in their green beds no matter how far they 
roamed, or fretted, or strove or loved, all gathered in the 
dear and homely place to wait the last trump’s call. 

This strange peace of the old burial ground began to steal 
upon J oan, taking away the sharpness of her dread and pain. 
She wandered about, reading here and there the names, and 
bye and bye came upon a little path that led up a small 
round hill clothed in pine ; old, old graves thick among them, 
flat with the ground, their stones lichened and moss grown. 
She scratched away the obliterating moss and read over the 
inscriptions — Wisdom — Wisdom — all Wisdoms. How far 
back they must have lived here! Those now living in the 
Settlement had seemed so old to her young eyes, but here 
were such older ones — away back. Her own name, too, 

twice, several times. “Joan Wisdom, wife of ” “Joan 

Wisdom, wife of ” And then she came upon a curious 

thing; a fallen grey slab of slate, prostrate across the grave 
it had once stood above, and chiselled upon it in fresh letter- 
ing as though recently cut, and rudely, with awkward imple- 
ments, “the Gipsy Wife of Uriah Wisdom.” 

Who had been Uriah Wisdom and why did he marry a 
gipsy ? And why would this new line be added and the other 
one above it cut away ? She must ask Aunt Hetty about it. 
But with that thought came back with sudden poignancy her 
loss, and she fell to wandering what the life at Halfway now 
would be. Would she herself have to go away, perhaps ? Who 
would take Aunt Hetty’s place? Would Phoebe stay on? 
Just then Alexander called to her that he was ready, and she 
hurried down to meet him. 


A LAND OF RADIANT GLORY 


283 


“How did you like our graveyard?” asked he, as they 
drove along. “We think it’s about the roomiest and the 
prettiest in the whole country.” 

“It’s almost bigger than the Settlement is, don’t you 
think?” said she. “I mean there seem to he so many more 
people up there than there are living around here now,” — 
and that phrase of Aunt Hetty’s came to her mind, “big and 
boastful like all the Wisdom houses.” 

Cousin Alexander explained. “You’re right about it be- 
ing larger than the Settlement seems, but you see the peo- 
ple have been going up there ever since anybody was living 
around here at all; and beside that, a Wisdom, no matter 
where he lives and dies, wants to come back here for burial, 
longing to lie for their last rest upon that old thin- 
grassed side-hill, with the pines crooning over them and 
the wild roses a tangle over their feet, and a still day like 
this one is, the song of the river-fall away down the Bend. 
There’s pride in it, and there’s love in it, and maybe some 
piety, but mostly it’s the homing instinct, and the wanting 
to be together instead of mixed up in a strange plot. “One, 
two, three and here we be, I guess,” said Alexander. 

“And as for myself, why rather than a statue over me in 
a city square, I’d like to be put up there in that old part, close 
beside my mother and my father, old fellow though I’ll 
be, snuggling up against them at the last even as I did at 
first. If there’s nothing more than this life, then what 
so natural as to be together at the end of it all ; and if more 
and better is to follow, as I believe there is, then what so 
cheery as that one family should want to rise together, eh! 
But maybe I’m rambling on too long,” said he, noting the 
serious face beside him, “and we’ll talk of something 
brighter; though some day you’ll maybe want to get back 
here yourself, when your work is done out in the world, and 
then you’ll understand.” 

“I think I understand some of it now,” said she quietly, 
“and I love to hear you talk. Being up there to-day made me 


284 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


feel badly first, but it helped me afterward; and I won’t 
ever be really lonely again now, for it’s so nice to have such 
a lot of your own family, even if they do have to be up there 
instead of living; and I’d like to hear all about them, too. 
Would Uncle Garret tell me?' I’m almost afraid to bother 
him, asking, so I’ll have to come down to the office some day 
and let you tell me.” 

“Don’t be afraid to ask him. That is only his outer crust 
you fear, and perhaps it’s not very thick, and you may be 
able to crack through if you try. He’s going to miss Hetty 
more than he knows, and while he’s lonely this way is the 
time for you to get your hold in. I believe we all are 
kept here, or taken, for a wise purpose, to work out the works 
of Him who sent us. It’s a faith I preached when I first 
was licensed, and I like it yet, and try to live by it. Kind of 
keeps us all up and doing to the very end. How does it strike 
you ?” 

“I like it, too, only I never thought of it before. I guess 
I always was just thinking about other people and what they 
did, and didn’t know I had a work, myself,” said Joan, 
looking up at the kindly kinsman who had searched out 
so many wanderers and set them upon their feet with pur- 
pose true, and given so many a soul an impulse new in the 
right direction. “Why didn’t you keep on being a preacher ?” 
she asked. 

“Well now, that’s as pretty a compliment as I ever had 
paid me!” exclaimed Alexander, beaming down over his 
glasses upon her. “I’ve never been really sure myself that 
I did right to give it up, but according to this belief of 
mine that everybody has a certain work cut out for him, 
preaching didn’t seem to be mine, for first my voice gave 
out, and then my parents both were paralysed and no one 
to care for them but me, so I had to come back to the old 
home and go on with the lumbering and farming. And once 
back, I got tied up with things, and stayed on; and I 


A LAND OF EADIANT GLOEY 


285 


hope have followed the path that was blazed out for me, 
but I often feel troubled about it, for as the old hymn goes, 

‘I wander oft, and think it Thine 

When wandering in my own.’ ” 

“Aiid when I’m gone,” he continued after a pause, “it 
does me good to know that what’s left behind is all going out 
to spread the gospel. My two sons, one of them is in the 
Army and one in the Navy. I never thought I’d raise a 
soldier and a sailor, but there they are, doing their work in 
those callings and doing it well, for they’ve been promoted 
to responsible posts. I’m not much for war, but I reckon 
it will always be breaking out here and there unless we can 
catch the Devil and chain him up again, and so those two 
things, the Army and Navy, have got to go on. The sea is 
the Lord’s, and He made it, and could keep it free without 
help of man, same as He could run the lands, but He seems 
to choose to send His messengers running to and fro over 
it all to get the soundings and to settle the boundaries there- 
of. So Cyrus and Dick are following their paths there, and 
they don’t want me to leave them a dollar of my money, 
though there’s quite a sum of it. 

“ ‘Not a dollar, sir,’ they said to me, the last time they 
were back on leave, and they helped me themselves to make 
out the instrument that gave it all to the Cause. ‘Just leave 
us the old house,’ said Dick, ‘half and half, so we can 
come back when we like, and that’s all we ask!’ I’m 
favored to have such sons, and they’ll be blessed themselves 
for their fine spirit. But you’ll think I haven’t ever given up 
preaching ! When I get a good listener like you are I clean 
forget myself.” 

“I like it, every word,” said the little listener sincerely. 
“I’m so glad I came. I didn’t really want to, and it was 
hard to see the burial, you know, but you’ve helped me such 
a lot. And then I’ve got so many more people to love, now, 


286 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


those dear ones up there on the hill — and my ‘work in the 
world,’ ” she added with sweet and serious mien. 

“Well, now meeting’s out!” said Cousin Alexander. 
“You’re young and mustn’t he kept solemn and sad. Here 
we are at the trough that’s an overflow Garret lets down from 
the watering trough up at Halfway, and we can have a drink 
if you’re thirsty. If this dry weather continues,” said he, 
getting out to let fall the check rein, and flecking with his 
whip the heavy dust upon the carriage top, “we’ll see some 
suffering, I’m afraid. The wells on the high ground are 
going dry already, and brooks in the pasture lands. There 
hasn’t been a shower for six weeks. Even the trough is fall- 
ing in depth, I see.” 

“Our spring has dropped a little,” said Joan, “but Uncle 
Garret says it can’t all go away, because it never has yet.” 

“He’d better not be too sure, though we all kind of swear 
by that spring. It’s been a wonderful fountain, and is a 
pretty spot where it bubbles up. When we’re sick, we Wis- 
doms, we’d rather have water from there than the best of 
wine. Kind of like the well of Bethlehem to us all.” 

“It’s the dearest place,” said Joan, “all shut in around it 
like a little house, and I always stay just as long as I dare, 
till I know Uncle Garret won’t want to wait one minute 
longer.” 

“You’re plucky to make him wait at all. It’s not in the 
blood to wait for what we want, especially water.” 

“What makes us be so thirsty?” asked Joan quickly, so 
quickly that he answered before he had stopped to think. 

“What makes you say us ?” said he. “It’s only the mem- 
folk who have to have it,” and then he bethought himself 
and sought to cover his words. 

But he had a keen-headed little girl riding beside him. 
“What is it they have ?” she asked, and there was no parry- 
ing the question itself, though he might veil the real ugliness 
of the thing from those fresh young eyes. 

Just an old tale told down through the generation of 


A LAND OF RADIANT GLORY 


287 


us,” said he carelessly, “that the Wisdoms can never get 
enough water to satisfy their thirst. It might affect any- 
body bad, off in a desert, maybe, or adrift on the ocean, but 
as far as around here where there’s always been water and 
to spare, why it works us no harm, except the continual crav- 
ing that’s hard on anybody sick, like your Uncle Garret is. 
Not many of the women folk feel it, except one here and 
there, and if I were you I wouldn’t take it up, just from 
hearsay There used to be an old rhyme about it.” 

“I know it: ‘Sons’ sons, and daughters’ sons,’ ” said Joan 
quickly. 

Alexander let fall his reins upon his knees, and looked 
astonishment out of his two pair of eyes. “Where on earth 
could you learn it ?” asked 'he. 

“I didn’t learn it, and didn’t even know that I knew it, till 
you began to speak about it, and then it just came out quick, 
from away back that first day I came here, on the stage 
with George. There was another man, a passenger, and he 
said it over when I got out at Halfway, because he thought 
I looked like the family, he said. It’s queer, though, that it 
never came to my mind before, for I’ve often wondered 
and wondered about us being so thirsty. I am, myself, and 
I can drink three glasses full now without stopping.” 

“But you see you don’t have to be, it’s only the men-folk, 
so you can knock it right off, before it gets a hold on you.” 

“I see that,” said she. “But who started it, and who made 
the verse about it ? I suppose it’s one of our ‘stories,’ is it ? 
Phoebe said the family was ‘bristling’ with them; that was 
what she called it.” 

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Alexander. “Trust Phoebe to put 
it sharply. Yes, she’ll be able to give you the family chron- 
icles fast enough, and they’ll not be glossed over any, either. 
Too bad you couldn’t get them from Orin, for she’d make 
an epic out of what Phoebe would turn into a farce. Louisa 
and I had hoped your Aunt Hetty’s sickness might bring the 
two households together again, but it hasn’t come to pass, I 


288 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


see, yet. Maybe it’s part of your ‘work’ to do it. We’ve 
all tried our hands at it, in vain far as Halfway is concerned, 
‘but out of the mouths of babes/ the Scriptures say, often 
comes wisdom to confute age. Speaking of the Island makes 
me think that I forgot to measure the place for the stones 
we’re going to set up at Jane’s grave, and the old gipsy’s. 
Now I’ll have to go way up again another day, for I want 
to have it up over the woman’s by the time Lisbeth gets able 
to go there.” 

“Do you know the story about the gipsy wife?” queried 
Joan, recalling the old head stone she had noticed. 

“Well, you are a surprise !” exclaimed her companion. “I 
reckon Louisa is right in saying the women-folk don’t tell all 
they know at first go off. Now where did you get hold of 
that ?” 

When she told him about the lettering upon the slab, he 
mused a bit, before answering her further questions con- 
cerning it. 

“You need your Aunt Orin to tell you that,” said he, “for 
I’m not much myself on stories. But there’s nothing wrong 
about it. Your Uncle Garret’s father in his old age (he was 
quite on in years before he ever married at all), took for a 
second wife a gipsy girl that had almost been brought up at 
Halfway, a good girl she was too, and loved the mistress she 
had been named for, and nursed her through long sickness 
to death. She stayed on, to keep house, and care for the 
children, and someway they fixed it up between them, she 
and Uncle Uriah, and thought they might as well be married. 
It was pretty hard on Garret and Joan, that was his sister, 
you know, for there never were prouder Wisdoms born than 
these two children were, from their youth up, and having 
their own mother die so early the pride had got a crooked 
bent and made them cold and intolerant. Proper pride is a 
means of grace and growth, but foolish pride is a snare to 
your feet. 

“So it’s her name you saw on the stone up there in the old 


A LAND OF RADIANT GLORY 


289 


part,” said he, skipping over the story to its end; “but I 
never knew before that the word gipsy was attached to it. 
Some other day we’ll talk some more about it, maybe. Here 
we are at the Halfway turn. I never saw the time go so 
quick. It hasn’t seemed more than a wink of my eye since 
we started back, and going at almost a snail’s pace too, on 
account of the mare’s lame foot. You’re great company, and 
Garret is lucky, as Captain Nat rightly said, to have you 
with him. I don’t know how you’ll get on, though, now, in 
that great house, and Garret ailing as he is, unless Phoebe 
will stay with you. Louisa was going to urge her to it 
while we were gone. I see Nat’s team is hack, and he’ll 
be there for supper too. It will take Garret’s mind off his 
loss to have to talk to us a bit, and things will all shake out 
right, so take a heart, and do your ‘work,’ ” said Cousin 
Alexander, as he helped her down from the carriage. “We’ll 
all lend a hand, and you must feel free to come to us with 
whatever you can’t lift yourself. What else are we for, your 
own flesh and blood ! And I never wanted a drink from that 
spring more than I do this very minute, hot and dusty as I 
am.” 

“She’s a likely girl, a likely girl,” said he later, as he and 
Louisa drove homeward, “and except for her gentle heart that 
comes from the Island side, in looks and ways is as patterned 
after her grandmother J oan as if they grew on one stalk. I 
used to have quite a hankering for Joan when I was a young 
fellow, Louisa, but I calculated there had been too much 
marrying back and forth in the family and it was wiser to 
look elsewhere.” 

“And wise you were,” said Louisa placidly. “I’ve made you 
a sight happier than she ever could.” 

“I expect you’re right, as usual,” said he, “and I’m sure 
I’m satisfied, myself. But it’s a queer mix-up, too, how 
things work out. She ran away from Halfway with one 
of the Island family, and was never allowed back home, and 


290 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


disinherited by Garret and her father both, yet here’s her 
grandchild up there now with Garret instead of down at the 
Island where they’d pet and love her. Wonder how it’s all 
going to turn out. We must have her down to spend the 
day, and Lisheth with her.” 

“Amsey and Orin are getting greatly set on Lisheth,” said 
Louisa. “I have been over several times while so near, 
and she is a dear girl. With her lameness cured, and Orin 
to train and teach her, in that lovely peaceful home, she’ll 
make a fine woman.” 

“They can’t leave the home to her, for the Island prop- 
erty is entailed, and little Joan would be the proper heir 
I suppose, unless Amsey should choose to break it. And dear 
knows who’ll get Halfway; it’s Garret’s own, according to 
his father’s will. But there have been several things hap- 
pen lately, rather strange, and putting two and two to- 
gether I’ve an idea how the wind’s blowing, though maybe 
I’d better wait to tell you, till Fm really sure.” 

“Do,” said she. “I’d wear out in no time putting two 
and two together that way you’re always doing, and arriving 
at your deductions so laboriously.” 

“Deductions !” said he. “A big word again, Louisa, and 
a ‘proper’ enough one, too; it sounds like a term out of my 
old logic book.” 

“I don’t know what it sounds like but I do know that I 
can reach a conclusion without the thinking and pondering 
that you put upon it,” said she. 

Alexander laughed that quiet laugh of good comradeship. 

“Logic or no logic, Louisa, I hate it that there’s no man 
of the family left to inherit the two old places, and keep up 
the name in the region where once they dwelt upon the hills 
all round about.” And they fell to talking of the olden 
times, as they drove on through the quiet country way. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


youth’s vision splendid 

T HAT night, when kindred and friends had left Half- 
way, and Phoebe and Joan were asleep upon their beds, 
Garret Wisdom still sat up within the wing rooms. He had 
given orders that he did not wish to retire, hut to spend 
the night as he chose, upon chair or couch. The strain of the 
day just past had left its mark upon him, his face was 
grey and drawn, and the hands stretched out to the small 
fire that burned upon the hearth, shook as he sought to warm 
them by its blaze. The chill was within him, in his heart 
that he so seldom opened to love’s sunshine, in his stern in- 
exorable will that so long had known no yielding breath nor 
suffered soft petitions, pity and remorse to melt. 

Twice he thought he heard what seemed steps upon the 
verandah, but the sounds died away. A third time it fell 
upon his ears, plainly, approaching footsteps, and a rap 
upon the door. 

“Enter,” said he abruptly, as was his wont. 

The door opened and Pelig stood upon the threshold. “I 
hope you’ll excuse me for disturbing you, sir,” said he, clos- 
ing the door and standing against it. “And I hope you’ll 
overlook it, doing what I did to-day, sitting up with you, 

at the funeral, hut I had to, someway I can’t say it 

right, nor the way I want to, hut it was the fine cussed 
old blood in me made me do it and I couldn’t help myself. 
I told Joan I would, and asked her to tell you I was going to, 
and then I thought I couldn’t, for there were so many folks, 
and I had no proper clothes. So I kept outside, taking care 
of their teams, and doing what was asked of me, but some- 

291 


292 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


thing mad and proud cam© up in me, and clothes or not, or 
hired or owner, why should I stay out there, with her funeral 
going on inside who was always good and kind to me; 
and I would have dared it even if you and everybody else had 
tried to order me out.” He said it valiantly, yet brokenly, 
and not with the hot spirit in his tone that the words be- 
spoke. 

“Sit down, Pelig,” said the Master of Halfway, and the 
youth did as he was bid. “Say what you have to say, for 
’tis late. No need to make excuses. She deserved so sin- 
cere a mourner, and the courage to do it proved your sin- 
cerity. But I see you have other things upon your mind as 
well ; speak out.” 

“I will,” said he doggedly. “You never asked me about 
my own family, but you knew all the time that my true name 
was Wisdom, even if I did come to you with another. My 
father did not live up to his good name, he drank, and used 
my mother cruel, when he was drinking, and when he died 
she said we would take her own name, and start the world new. 
We did, but she died herself, soon, and I had to go out 
working round wherever I’d get a job. I got some chance 
at school here and there, not much, but it’s easy for me to 
learn what’s set before me, and I don’t forget.” 

“Which are Wisdom gifts,” said the old man. 

“So I’ve been told,” continued the youth, “and there are 
bad ones I’ve been told of, too. But I kept hearing about 
the family, and about Halfway being the old place where they 
first started out around this part. So when I knew of the 
chance to come here to work I made up my mind I’d come, 
and take back my father’s name, and that was why I went in 
bold to dinner that day so I’d start out right and be a Wis- 
dom from the first. But once I’d done that, the zest was 
gone, and I saw I didn’t properly belong to Halfway, and 
was for giving it all up again ; when Joan came. And it was 
different after that, for she used to speak with me now 
and then, and tell me what she’d picked up about the 


YOUTH’S VISION SPLENDID 


298 


name, and how she felt what she called the honour of it, and 
what it stands for.” 

Garret Wisdom interrupted him sharply. He had been 
watching the hoy as he spoke, wondering at the ready speech, 
much of it the common vernacular, but here and there 
weightier words, or a bookish phrase, spoken with a halting 
pause between, as though bringing them forth hardly, from 
out the golden treasury of his memory. But that allusion to 
the honour of the name, in someway antagonised the man, as 
if Pelig had presumed upon the relationship to imply some- 
thing personal. 

“What do you and she know about the honour of any 
name ?” asked he curtly. 

“I don’t say that I know much myself, as yet, because I’m 
just beginning to feel out after it, but I’ll tell you how , she 
understands it. That night you sent her down alone to the 
mill, to see who was running your trick, she never told me it 
was you sent her, but tried to let me think she came of her own 
curiosity, though I sensed all right who had done the start- 
ing. What did she keep it back for? Why, for what she 
thought was your honour , because she didn’t want to have you 
thought mean of, nor to have me be turned against you. 
And she’s never spoken a word about it since, though she’s 
asked about my cut, and how I made out with it and all that ; 
and I only got at the real truth of it from Phoebe.” 

“That will do,” said Garret Wisdom, rapping with 
his cane upon the floor. “Be thankful I never questioned 
you, myself, about your cut. I presume you came to me to- 
night for other matter than that, so get on with it, for I am 
weary.” 

“Yes, I don’t know as I did come for only that,” said Pelig; 
“but if it’s news to you, as I see it is, I’m glad I let you hear 
it so you’ll know how to judge her properly about it. And 
you’ve got to hear me to the end, even if I do bungle things 
in their order. It was Joan, and Mrs. Wisdom being kind 
to me as they were, that helped decide me again to take 


294 - 


JO AH AT HALFWAY 


up the name for good, and be somebody in the world. 
But that night of the party settled the thing, for I got mad 
clear through ; not at them, for I know they’d only just for- 
got; but I was mad at what had been my share of luck in 
life ; and at you having everything and me nothing ; and be- 
cause you knew who I was and yet had never asked me over 
the doorsill of your room here, nor asked what I expected to 
do in the world, nor tried to give me a spur up; and that 
was why I made myself go in, the way I did, to shame you, 
and the whole crew of them who didn’t care, I thought, 
whether I went to hell or not so long as you all were pros- 
pering yourselves. 

He paused of his own accord this time, for the words 
poured forth now in a torrent, as if from a pent-up fount of 
bitterness. But his listener did not speak in the pause. 

“Maybe ’twas the being mad helped me, and maybe ’twas 
the way you all treated me after I got in,” said he, “but I 
got my start all right, that night, and every one of them 
since has treated me fair. The Postmaster gave me the cut 
of lumber; and Captain Hat offered to get me a job in town, 
where I could work and go to school; and none of them, 
men or women, gave me the go-by on account of my poor 
clothes or hard luck. So I’ve been turning it all over in my 
mind, and I’ve come to my conclusion. I’m going into town 
to take up with Captain Hat’s offer, and I’ve come to ask if 
you’ll release me my next month that I had signed on for, 
and pay me my wages; for if I want the job, I’ve got to go 
to-morrow, or not take it at all.” 

“Your signed contract expires September the thirtieth,” 
said the Master of Halfway, “and your wages will naturally 
be paid you when you have worked out your time.” 

“I know that, commonly speaking,” said the youth. 

“Commonly speaking,” repeated the Master with stinging 
emphasis of mockery. 

“Those are the words I meant,” replied Pelig stolidly. 
“Far as the papers go, I can’t expect you to release me, but 


YOUTH’S VISION SPLENDID 


295 


I’m asking you because you know who I am. You treated 
me fine that evening, yourself, I’ll say that ; and treated me 
fair far as real contract goes, never putting more upon me 
than I bargained for, though you never did give me a word 
of thanks. But that’s all done with now, and I’m asking you, 
on account of our name, if you’ll let me off, pay me my 
money and let me have my chance.” 

“And what will Halfway do without a man to carry on the 
work you have been at ? Hiram can not do your share and 
his as well. Work out your month, and then talk to me about 
leaving.” 

The youth met fair the glance upon the stormy old face. 
“I tell you I’ve got to take it now or lose it,” said he. “Do 
you think I’d come here bothering you on the night when 
you’ve had sorrow, unless I had to! It was only to-day at 
the funeral that I learned it, the fellow whose place I’m to 
take is leaving sudden, to-morrow. It’s in the big lumber 
concern, and lumbering is what I’m going to go in for. I’ve 
no head for farming, but I’ve one for figures, and I can run a 
mill, and I know lumber, standing, through and through ; the 
sighting you had me do this summer has given me a good 
start on it. I can almost measure with my eyes and measure 
fair, and I can pick out any kind of tree from the grain of 
the wood, and I know their barks at sight. But it’s all I do 
know, so I’ve got to use it to get on with, since I haven’t book 
knowledge. I’m going to take that place, and I’m going to 
make myself so indispensable to that company that they 
can’t get on without me, see!” 

It was strange to watch them, as Pelig spoke, the young 
man so like the older in his stern vehemence, and that “see” 
at the close, so like the other’s oft repeated “do you under- 
stand.” 

“Indispensable,” mocked the older man. 

Hot with the sting of the tone, and the denial of his request 
where he had hoped for encouragement or acquiescence, Pelig 
sprang to his feet. “The words of the language are as much 


296 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


mine as yours, aren’t they ? You can’t get a mortgage on them, 
as you have on most of the land round about ! You may keep 
the money you owe me, but you can’t keep me here, and you 
can’t stop me from getting on in the world, for if you live 
long enough you’ll see me at the head of that lumber con- 
cern or another as big. I’ve got to do it, for my mother, and 
for my dad whose name I’ve taken again. See! And that 
old place of theirs down at Hardscrabble is going to be mine 
before another year is out. That’s what I’m saving up for, 
and why I bargained with you to keep my wages, instead of 
using them up month by month. Do you suppose I’d have 
gone without decent clothes, for any other reason? Not a 
suit to my back to fit my name, or Halfway, — or to be seen 
at her funeral to-day! And I tell you I’ll have that place, 
whether you pay me or not. It’s nothing much but rocks 
and weeds but I’m going to keep it fenced, straighten up the 
bit of a house where my mother and father lived, and let 
it be known again as John Wisdom’s place. I’ve no right to 
judge him, perhaps, but he let things go slack, somehow, and 
didn’t try ever to take his proper stand in the municipality. 
So I’ve got to do it for him, to redeem the name ; you needn’t 
reach out your claws for that little spot for it’s going to be 
mine!” 

Garret Wisdom piffled in scorn again. “And maybe 
have your eye on Halfway as well !” said he, reaching out his 
hand toward his desk and opening a lower drawer within it. 

“No, I don’t know as I was planning on Halfway, though 
there’s none of us could live in it and not love it, and want 
it for our own.” 

The Master stayed his hand at the sudden absence of heat 
in the boy’s voice, and the frank expression of admiration for 
the old house that he himself cherished so proudly and 
fondly. But Pelig burst forth again, with vehemence. “It’s 
Hardscrabble I’m after, and I’ll have it in spite of your 
keeping my money back.” 

At that the Master opened the drawer, drew from out it a 


YOUTH’S YISIOH SPLENDID 


297 


package of papers, ran them through with quick fingers, and 
pulled out one, unfolding it as he passed it over to the youth. 

It was an old document, the seal upon it split, and half 
fallen away ; within it another sheet, indentured with rude 
notched clipping upon its margin to match the other. Pelig 
reached for it, and without speaking, read it through; hut 
his hands trembled as he read, for it was the deed of the 
Hardscrabble homestead, and it was now in Garret Wisdom’s 
name. 

His freckled face went white, then flamed in passion. 
“You Devil !” said he, “You — you ” 

“Go on,” said Garret Wisdom imperturbably, no longer 
angry himself since he was so plainly the victor. “Go on — 
I haven’t a lien on the language, you know.” 

“Nor on that piece of land for long! I’ll tell you that! I 
heard the Postmaster was carrying Mr. Brown along on it, 
and I thought maybe he would turn over the mortgage to me, 
if I could make him a first payment outright. And I was silly 
enough to think you would have even gone security for me ! 
He had it just before I came here to Halfway.” 

“It has been mine since a month before you came. Alex- 
ander only held it to help the man out, and would have 
yielded it to him, mortgage and all, had he wanted it. But 
the man has gone West, and I took it off his hands.” 

Pelig dropped his anger, and pleaded. “Will you let me 
have it if I can get you the full price, in cash ?” 

“Not selling Halfway lands at present,” said Garret Wis- 
dom coolly. 

“You don’t mean you’ll not let me have it! My money 
is good as anybody’s!” 

“I said what I meant,” replied the old man. 

“But it was my father’s land, and my grandfather’s!” 

“And my grandfather’s before it was theirs.” 

“But you have everything else beside,” urged the youth. 
“Let me have this ! I’ve gone to sleep every night the last 
three months, thinking on it. It’s no treasure to you.” 


298 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Garret Wisdom must have lost himself, almost, with the 
sorrow and the effort of the days just past, for he played with 
him, cruel, as a lion with its prey; or mayhap may have 
tried him. “I hear there is likely gold upon it,” said he; 
“the quartz lead from the big mine down the river dips 
that way.” 

His victim turned upon him. “I tell you you’ll not have it ! 
There’s that on it richer than gold, to me. There’s a rose- 
bush there that my dad called a Wisdom rose, and my mother 
tended it after he was gone, because she said he loved it and 
was never drinking so bad when it bloomed ; and we always 
knew overnight when a bud was going to hurst and went out 
together in the morning to watch it come out; whether we 
had much breakfast or not we didn’t care, those mornings. 
And I was down last year, and it had spread to a whole 
clump of them — and you shan’t have those rose-bushes. See ! 
They’re ours ! There’s my mother there, too. She has her 
grave under a balm o’ Gilead tree as good as Halfway’s got, 
and you shan’t have her grave! See! And I plan to find 
out where my dad was put, he died away somewhere, hut 
I’ll fetch him hack, beside her ; and we’re going to start the 
world over again, the three of us ; and we’ll heat you out of 
that place somehow!” 

His anger was terrible. It wrecked his whole frame. He 
ran his trembling hands up through his red shock of hair 
that was wet upon his high forehead. He swayed hack and 
forth, his Wisdom eyes burned black. 

“It’s ours, and you’ll not have it! You — Devil!” And 
he sank in a heap upon the settle, and buried his face upon 
his arms, great dry sobs convulsing him. 

The log upon the dog-irons fell apart, rolling against the 
fender with burst of spark and flutter of white ashes. 

The old clock that had ticked out the Halfway hours for 
generations of Wisdoms, struck twelve, and ticked on in a 
new day. 

Presently the boy rose. His face was worn with his travail 


YOUTH’S VISION SPLENDID 


299 


sore. He looked old and haggard, yet looked a child need- 
ing a mother’s tenderest love. But in that travail his soul 
had been born, and from henceforth would captain his life. 

“Good-day, Mr. Wisdom,” said he. “By the clock my 
month is out. If you decide to give me my lawful pay, you 
may have it sent to the Postmaster for me to-morrow. I’ll 
be at Halfway no more after this day.” 

“I understand,” said Garret Wisdom, unmoved in mien or 
feature. “Good-day, Pelig.” 

The boy straightened his shoulders, and stood his full 
height by the door. “I told you my name,” said he. 

“It was Pelig Miller when you signed your contract,” re- 
marked the old man coolly. 

“It’s John Wisdom now,” and as he said it over he turned 
the big knob and swung wide the door, standing in its portal, 
looking straight into the eyes of the Master, unflinchingly. 

“Good-night, John Wisdom,” said the Master, and John 
Wisdom went out, and closed the door behind him. 

He had been worsted, and yet had he won, for he went 
out from Halfway a man, with his lawful name, a soul and 
a vision. 

When he had gone the old man lifted the broken logs in 
place upon the irons, with what faggots that he could reach 
from his chair feeding the fire till it flamed bright again, 
illumining the long room. But he shivered still, and drew 
his over-gown close, holding out his hands to the glowing 
blaze. 

It had been a long day, and a hard one, as he had said, 
and a wonder it was to them all that he had stood it through 
with no spasm of pain as so often cramped his limbs and 
sapped his nerve. Nor had he once through all its hours, 
nor through the other days while his wife lay dead at Half- 
way, made outcry of temper, nor displayed his wonted im- 
patience of spirit, though silent and moody. 

Phoebe would fain have settled him easy upon his bed 
in the early evening, and Alexander and Louisa had also 


300 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


urged it, but be bad not yielded, insisting instead upon being 
left to rest as be might cboose tbrougbout tbe nigbt. 

Well, thought he, the night was already half gone. 
Why should Pelig have come to plague him, and so set him 
at nought, and stir up wrath at the end of such a day — and 
what right had he to forget to bring up the fresh water! 
Phoebe had said he would fetch it, and he supposed when 
first he heard the knock that he had come to bring it. Sev- 
eral nights of late it had been forgotten. Perhaps it had been 
Hetty who always had seen that it was done, for never until 
her sickness had he remembered being left without it. He 
wondered if he could go through now, until morning, and 
reaching over tipped the jug, to see if possibly any had been 
left within. But it was empty, and dry. His throat was 
parched, how was he to do without it ! 

How lonely it was, and chill too, for a day that had been 
so hot and dusty. And he was left a lonely old man, no wife 
to w T ait upon his wants, from henceforth dependent upon his 
hirelings, except Joan. He had her, bound by law, to stay. 
And how she drew him to her, in spite of his resistance ; her 
little dark oval face and the fiower smile that lighted it, 
took him back, as he dwelt upon it, to long gone days when 
he and his young sister were all in all to each other. So long 
ago it seemed, to-night, and yet her face so plain be- 
fore him. That other one, too, the little half-sister, of 
the free-footed brown-faced race, but with Wisdom eyes 
of bluest hue — But why recall them now? He dismissed 
them from his mind. Why fret himself over the past ? He 
and J oan were left at Halfway, and must make the best of it ; 
if Phoebe would stay on; and that must be settled on the 
morrow, of course. 

He would now have to look around him for a new hired 
man. Pelig had been a good one, he would not deny that, 
to be depended upon, absolutely, in all that he undertook, 
even though so young and untrained. He had meant to do 
something for him, too, when his time was up, and to find 


YOUTH’S YISIOH SPLENDID 


301 


out his bent, and aims — but this high-handed onslaught of 
to-night would be unforgivable. The affair of the mill, that 
night sawing, he had overlooked, because he had rather liked 
the fact of the boy’s enterprise, but this impudence could 
not be passed over. 

“Indispensable !” he muttered aloud, mockingly, musingly. 
“Municipality! ‘Head of the concern!’ ‘John Wisdom!’ 
Gad, but the fellow had looked bom again when he went out, 
compared to the time he came, near a year ago, fumbling and 
awkward — ‘John Wisdom!’ ” 

He swung his chair around, pushing forward with cane and 
foot til] he was at his desk, took from a small safe within it a 
little canvas bag of gold, and counted out what he owed him, 
thirty sovereigns there were. Garret Wisdom loved gold, and 
kept it by him always, instead of paper. One hundred 
and fifty dollars; it was good pay for a young fellow, 
but he liked to pay high, and be able to exact as high 
returns. He would have it put up for him in the morning, 
for of course he had only played the boy, about his wages, 
and meant to pay him all right. It never should be said 
that the Squire of Halfway sent out a lad of his own name, 
with unpaid wages. He counted them over again. Yes, it 
was right, thirty pieces, and he placed them in an envelope, 
sealing it, and writing plainly upon it the new name, “John 
Wisdom.” Hiram would leave it at the office, in Alex- 
ander’s keeping. 

“Thirty pieces Why should that phrase creep with 
troubling thought to his weary brain. He had done no 
traitorous deed. He had bought the Hardscrabble place, fair 
and square, with never even a knowledge then, of the boy’s 
existence. It was Wisdom land for sale, and he was buying 
in Wisdom lands — that was all there was to it. 

He opened up the packet of papers again, and read over 
the two old titles to the property before it had passed to Uncle 
Jock. Since then, through parting with portions here and 
there it had shrunken in boundaries, and was now a pitifully 


302 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


small holding, mostly rocks and weeds at that, as the hoy had 
said; but it had once belonged to the Halfway grant, and 
he wanted to leave behind him and to own before he should 
have to leave it behind, all the old domain; this small plot 
at Hardscrabble was part of the scheme, and he was abso- 
lutely justified in getting and in keeping it. He folded up 
the papers and snapped them inside the packet. 

And then swift came hack a picture of the old great- 
uncle. Jock he was called, though his name had been 
John, an educated man, and genial, and full of wit, 
hut broken in strength early in life, because he had 
wasted his substance in riotous living. Luck had always 
seemed to he against him, even in his place that had 
turned out to he stubble and stone, a God-forsaken barren 
spot with the stingy soil hut a few inches deep over granite 
ledges, and the water acrid in well or spring — handicapped, 
he had been, at the very start, with a site like that to live 
upon. 

His son, young Jock as he was known, had evidently 
been caught also in the meshes of ill-fortune, encumbered 
by the sins and defects of those long dead, and the “thirst” 
beside. Unto the third and fourth generation — how relent- 
lessly such bad hap often follows down a family. And Pelig 
was the last of them, with perhaps no brighter hope. From 
the fathers unto the children ! 

He was a good worker, though, and saving, or how could 
he have left his wages uncollected ? A hot temper he had, 
and pluck of his own, too, without doubt, as those three oc- 
casions had proved, when he had, as it were, ‘announced’ him- 
self. Before he was aware Garret Wisdom chuckled at the 
thought of how the lad looked, stalking in that first day to 
dinner. And here he was now with a new name, thirty 
sovereigns of gold, and what he thought was going to be a 
“chance to get on.” Would he — or not! 

— John Wisdom ! Gad, but the name sounded good again, 
too; and come to think of it there wasn’t another young fel- 


YOUTH’S VISION SPLENDID 


303 


low in the whole countryside with the name and the blood as 
well; the Wisdoms were petering out. “And he stood up 
straight and hold and cursed me as good as I could have done 
it myself !” Perhaps he might he a scion of the race to he 
proud of, yet, or would he he handicapped, as those other 
Jocks had been, and by them! And he had wanted Hard- 
scrabble for the very same reason that he himself was buying 
up all the land round about, simply because it had once been 
his father’s property. Why not let him have it! Pshaw! 
Let him take his w T ages, and go out in the world, and fight 
for his “chance.” 

The fire burned low again, and smouldered down; the 
brands died in their white ashes. 

Garret Wisdom reached over to the empty jug once more. 
His throat was craving a drink — what right had any of 
them to forget his nightly portion? He was a fool not to 
have sent Pelig to the spring, for how could he worry on till 
daylight without it, with a burning thirst even now ? What 
a curse it was, down through the long years, to follow and 
hound them as it had ! And Uncle Jock’s had gone to liquor, 
and his son’s, also, and hard luck with it as well! Pelig, 
too, would go the same way, likely — unless he got his 
“chance.” 

He pulled out the documents again and read through the 
deed. He put it back. And then quickly drawing it out once 
more, reached for his quill, and spreading the sheets before 
him, wrote upon a fresh one, swiftly as he might with his 
cold cramped fingers, executing a conveyance of the prop- 
erty ; wrote, and signed, and affixed his seal thereto ; a trans- 
fer that, duly witnessed and recorded, would give to John 
Wisdom the Hardscrabble house and lands, its rose-clumps, 
its graves, its granite ledges. 

And though the stem old lips were straight and tight as 
if uncut stone, the face unmoved, there was something shin- 
ing in the deep blue eyes akin with Youth’s Vision splendid ; 


304 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and tumbling himself off his chair over onto his couch he 
drew the rugs about him, and through the long lonely hours 
that were left of the night, slept, as a child upon its mother’s 
arm ; nor waked to thirst, for he had quaffed a cooling draught 
from fount long sealed. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


JOAN IS MISTRESS AT HALFWAY 

J OHH WISDOM walked across the yard to the hack 
door of Halfway. The August moon shone light as day. 
He halted for a moment on the broad door-stone that com- 
manded a view of the long lane at the left and the last end 
of the Balm o’ Gilead avenue. O, how he loved the old 
house and its broad surrounding acreage, the great timber 
tracts, its green meadows, the uplands with their cropping 
flocks of sheep, the gay blooming garden, and the spring. 
He had come to it, a simple wondering hoy, a stranger 
to the place and name; was going from out it a man, with 
a purpose, linked up and bound about with all the glories 
and gifts and all the sins and defects of his ancestors, yet 
with his own free will to make choice of his own sentiment 
from out them, and the path his own feet should tread. 

The how-sweet apple tree beside the door was fragrant 
with its yellowing fruit. In the warm still night he could 
smell the mellow scent of them, and as he stood, one fell, 
with soft rush through leaves, to the grass below. He had 
been picking up these ripe falls and placing them beside 
the milk-pails in the early mornings, for those in the house 
who might wish them; but Joan had them mostly, and she 
had never failed to thank him for them through the day. 
He thought of her now, and that he would not he seeing her 
again after he left Halfway. 

She and Lisbeth were the only girls he ever had known. 
They were alike and yet unlike, the rose of the wayside 
and the rose of the garden, and who should choose between, 
since both lift their sweet faces to Heaven to bloom for 

305 


306 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


beauty’s joy? John Wisdom liked them each. The girl at 
the cabin would toss a quick answer sometimes to a passing 
jest, and he could have talked to her more readily because 
she had the easy way of the countryside, yet with a sweet 
grace and constraint of her own much like Joan’s. But it 
was Joan who had stirred to life that spark of inborn pride 
of name and race, and a purpose in life; friendly and com- 
panionable, as she brought him his books and talked of their 
contents, but with a delicate unconscious reserve that had 
made him feel she was above the common way, as a star 
shining aloft. Co-worker she had been with the great solemn 
forests he had roamed the season past, their deep recesses; 
the giant trees and the high winds that swayed their green 
tops, the illimitable stretches — all in them that had lifted 
him upward, and out of himself. 

He had not put it thus, in words, as he thought, for never 
had he in actual speech been able to express any adequate 
measure of the new life stirring within him, until this night 
when he talked to the Master of Halfway. A sudden recol- 
lection of the interview brought a scowl to his face and 
quick beat of heart with brain. “I’ll have Hardscrabble 
from him if I have to steal it. I’ll have it somehow,” said 
he passionately, and passing across to where the pail of 
water sat for the night, lifted the mug from its nail and 
drank his fill; as he went inside, and up the stairs to his 
ell-room chamber, recalling with grim satisfaction that eager 
hand of the Master stretched out more than once as they 
had talked, for the water that was not there ; a mute reach- 
ing which he had not noted with understanding at the time, 
but now realised with gratification. 

“Let him suffer with it,” muttered he. “He has 
Halfway, and Hardscrabble — and the thirst!” And brood- 
ing thus upon the wrongs, fell asleep. But not for long. 
He wakened sharply. Upon his bed the moonlight lay, a 
bright beam of it adown the bare wall. The roof was finished 
to its peak, and the sweet-clover bunches hanging aloft were 


JOAH IS MISTRESS AT HALFWAY 307 


swaying in the breeze that blew through the skylight win- 
dows. They were white and sweet even yet, for the Mistress 
of Halfway had gathered them fresh at Hannah’s just before 
departing upon her visit. He had tied and hung them for 
her, in her own room, and in this ell-chamber of his, mar- 
velling that she would think to put them here, for him. And 
he thought of how much they were going to miss her, at 
Halfway, the Squire mostly, for though she had her own 
queer quiet ways, and often braved and as often brought down 
his ire upon her head, she had always seen to it that they 
all ministered to his wants and his weaknesses; while now 
he would be left to Phoebe’s none too tender mercies ; Phoebe 
who would boss and antagonise and deny him. It was more 
than probable that it was Phoebe who had forgotten the water 
on purpose, even on this first night of his loneliness and be- 
reavement. And John Wisdom, remembering the interview 
just past, was glad she was thus denying him. 

But the sweet-clover bunches swayed back and forth, their 
scent strong upon the air, and suddenly the boy remembered 
something the little gentle mistress had told him. He had 
asked her about the thirst, and what it meant, and she told 
him of an effort she had once made to break the spell it held 
upon her husband, keeping the water from him for a day 
and night, watching with him to see if they might conquer 
its hold; that he had nearly died in the struggle; and at 
grey dawn of a terrific storm she had crept down herself 
to the spring and brought him his portion, fearing he would 
have passed away, even ere she could return. 

How would go the fight this night, he wondered. Would 
he die ? Hobody knew how strong and heavy the curse 
might lay its blight upon a Wisdom. As for himself 
he was only commencing to get in its toils; a pang of it in 
the timber lands when long out of his course, or late in 
fruitless search for straying cattle ; but the craving had not 
been easy to bear. Whatever else Garret Wisdom had done, 
or had not done, at least he was clear of bringing that “fate” 


308 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


upon the Wisdom name. Its doom fell upon him with them 
all, the just and the unjust. 

The boy had their brain, that worked quick, making eager 
strong decisions; and in spite of the present enmity he 
felt toward him there was a pride down within his heart 
for the handsome stern old Master of Halfway, his kinsman, 
that attracted his young spirit. He rose from his bed and 
dressed again, stole softly down the stair and out the door, 
taking a pail upon his arm as he passed ; and presently was 
back from the spring and at the wing room door with the full 
pail of water, all along the way seeing in imagination that 
small fleet figure of the gentle Mistress hurrying with fear- 
ful steps lest the sufferer die before she could return. 

Garret Wisdom would have no lock nor bar upon his door, 
and the youth knew it. Turning the knob softly lest he might 
perchance have slept, and stepping with soft tread as he 
saw him lying upon the couch, peaceful in slumber, he 
placed the brimming bucket upon the hearth stones, with 
the cocoanut dipper beside it, in easy reach; and coming 
out again, closed the door behind him without a sound to 
wake the sleeper. They both had stormed and striven. 
Both had also yielded — in the Wisdom way, not to each 
other, but to something right and just enshrined within. 

By the time Phoebe was bustling about the big kitchen 
to start the day’s affairs, he whom she had known as Pelig 
had cleared out carriage house and barns, righted up the 
tool chests and garden-shed, packed his worn old bag with 
his^few belongings, breakfasted at the farm-house, and was 
back at Halfway to say his good-bye. 

Sitting down with Phoebe upon the door stone, he told 
her of his new name, his opportunity, and the reasons for 
his sudden departure, but told her not of his stormy en- 
counter with the master. And Phoebe gave her approval, 
and praise without stint. 

“Go,” said she; “you’ll be at the top rung some day 


JOAN IS MISTKESS AT HALFWAY 


309 


all right, if you watch out sharp in your mounting. There 
are inclinations born within you, like as not, that can pull 
you down if you give in to them, but there are enough 
others to keep you steady if you’ll let them have the lead. 
Whatever you’ve done here, you’ve done well, but don’t he 
cocky and think you can’t he improved upon. Keep as good 
company as you are yourself and as much better as you can 
get And don’t scorn good clothes. There’s no call to be 
a dude or a sport, but dress as well as you can within your 
means, for many a sloven has lost a good snap to a snug 
clothed fellow. If Garret Wisdom had half an eye out 
for business, let alone what’s owing to you for relationship, 
you wouldn’t need to go abroad to snatch up snaps and 
chances, for he’d keep you here to run Halfway lands for 
him with a good slice of them for yourself beside. But he’s 
blind and balky, and I’ll have my hands full with him. It’s 
like trying to whistle down the wind to turn him from his 
ways; maybe I’ll not be able to manage him discreetly as 
Hetty did, but I’ll manage him !” 

“He’s asked you to stay, then? I’m glad of that,” said 
Pelig. 

“Asked me to stay!” said she giving vent to a scornful 
snort. “I’m not waiting for his asking. I rented my house 
and packed my trunk all ready, a week before Hetty breathed 
her last, and it’s Halfway I’m in charge of from now on. 
Who else is there able to do it, I’d like to know, and run 
it as it should be? I may not have as much knack with 
girls as I have with men and housekeeping, but Joan’s a 
likable one, if she doesn’t grow too Wisdomey, and we’ll 
get on the best we can. She carried herself great through 
the sickness, helping us all out, and I’ll call her now to say 
good-bye, though she’s fagged out and ought to be let to 
sleep this day. But she’ll be sorry to hear the news of your 
going, for now that you’ve taken the name and all, you 
and she could have gone about some together, to let her see 
young life now and then.” 


310 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“Don’t call her,” said he. “I’ve to come by later in the 
day, after I speak for my passage with George, and I’ll see 
her then.” 

“Good-bye then, John Wisdom,” said Phoebe, with a 
handshake as hearty as the good will that beat beneath her 
brusque speech. “And don’t forget, now while you’re just 
starting out, that it’s good for us Wisdoms to have the Lord 
over us. If Garret had bowed to Him early in life it would 
have kept him down a peg to know there was somebody 
he couldn’t bully and bluster. I’m glad you’ll be in 
to see him ahead of me, this day, for I left him without 
his pitcher of water last night and am as near frightened 
as ever I was to go nigh him. But while I’m out in the 
dairy you can be making your farewells with him, and the 
edge will get taken off his temper a bit.” 

With which Phoebe was gone. But though Pelig was not 
unwilling to shield her, he had no further farewells to make 
within the wing rooms, and went on his way instead. 

Joan feared he had gone without her good-hye, but she 
found him at the spring when she went for the early after- 
noon’s supply. 

He took the bucket from her and sank it in the pool of 
the spring. “We’ll leave it there to cool off,” said he. 

“I’m so glad you hadn’t really gone,” said she. “Phoebe 
thought you had. And 0 Pelig, you’ve a whole new suit 
on, I see ! — and it looks splendid.” 

“I owe that to Phoebe. I was stubborn enough to think 
I’d beat along in my old rig, but she ordered me to get a 
new outfit, and I reckon she’s wise about it too, for I feel fifty 
per cent more successful right off, though they’re almost 
shop-warm yet.” 

“She’s a great Phoebe,” said Joan, “but I can’t seem to 
get on the right side of her always. I’d like to love her 
if she’d really let me. She likes you, Pelig, and she’s awful 
sorry you are going, and so am I. It’s queer to have Aunt 
Hetty and you both gone almost at once, and a kind of new 


JOAN IS MISPRESS AT HALFWAY 311 


life all over again, just as I had begun to get used to the 
other. But it’s great, your chance. She told me about it. 
And, Pelig, I just do believe it was because you came in 
that night to the party, that started it all. I don’t see how 
you ever got up courage to, either. I would have been 
frightened. But if you hadn’t, why none of them would 
have known about you, for ever so long, perhaps. Now 
you’re just one of us, and Phoebe says you’ve got spunk 
enough to go through a stone wall. It’s fine to he a boy, 
and be able to do things out in the world. Girls can’t do 
much.” 

“You’re wrong about that,” said he, struggling in his 
mind for adequate expression of what was in his heart, 
stumbling in speech at first, but growing at ease as he pro- 
ceeded. “Before I came here I never cared much whether 
I owned anything or not. I just worked on for other folks, 
wherever I’d a job, and didn’t lift my eyes any further 
than the end of the turnip rows I was thinning out, or the 
com I was hoeing for them. I hadn’t had any one since 
my mother was dead and gone, to care whether I came or 
went so long as I did their work they paid me for; nor had 
clothes to look decent in ; nor any place of my own beside the 
shack they gave me to sleep in. And it was a girl who taught 
me in school once, who gave me the first start that made me 
find out who my family was, and want to be one of them. 
And it was Mrs. Wisdom who gave me my fine clean bedroom 
and a place at her table, that made me decide to be clean and 
decent myself, and fit to use them. Then after you came I 
began to get farther along, because you didn’t look down 
on me, but talked to me, and made me see someway that 
there was more to work than just chopping and hauling — • 
you got me books, and you asked me about them so I felt I had 
to read them close. I don’t know anything much yet, but 
if it hadn’t been for you three women I’d never have got 
out of the rut at all. So girls can do a lot in the world, all 
right.” 


312 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


Joan smiled her wistful smile. “ I love it that you’ve 
really got out of the rut,” said she, hut scarce comprehend- 
ing even from his utterance what marvel she had done him 
in leading him even that little way into the new life which 
he might never have entered without her guiding, living and 
carrying about with him only the implements with which he 
gained his daily bread, and so concerned with their workings 
that he might have groped and grovelled along that low 
level instead of lifting his eyes as now to the green-clothed 
summits. 

“I’d just like to know I was going to do big things all 
myself, too, sometime, not just helping. And you’ve even 
got a new name. Aren’t you glad it’s Wisdom — John Wis- 
dom. It sounds big and good, doesn’t it ? It’s like one of 
those tall straight oak trees you showed me that day. You’ll 
have to do all different things, now, won’t you, to match it, 
you know?” 

“I see what you mean,” said he. “Pelig was just a scrub- 
tree, the kind that grows on swamp edges, slabsided and 
stunted. I don’t promise to get on well enough to match the 
other, but I’m going to make a try for it all right, or I 
wouldn’t have taken up the name again.” 

“But Hardscrabble,” said Joan, “that sounds more as if it 
went with the scrub-tree. Halfway goes better with John 
Wisdom.” 

“Hardscrabble suits me, all right, old or new name, it’s 
Hardscrabble for me every time.” 

She saw she had probed and hurt, and the woman’s heart 
of her sprang quick to her lips to atone. 

“Pheobe didn’t tell me about it, really, so I didn’t know 
I was saying anything wrong. Would you mind telling it 
over to me now ?” asked she. 

So he told to her all the sordid tale of his own young life, 
of his mother, and of his father’s sad and pitiful end. 
And because his tongue had been loosed in that bitter 
encounter of the night before, he told it in ready speech, with 


JOAN IS MISTRESS AT HALFWAY 313 


an easy rhetoric of expression, new to her, hut that seemed 
to fit him like his new garments. Of his determination to 
own again the old place, he spoke also, hut not of his struggle 
with the master over it, for he also had caught what it meant 
to uphold the honour of the name, nor would drag it down 
before another, no matter how his wounds might smart or his 
wrongs cry out for such revenge. 

“I’ll give you lots of luck on it all,” she said with girlish 
lightness, to lift the soberer mood. “ We’ll miss you dread- 
fully, hut we’ve got to go on, you see, even if we haven’t 
got a chance like you have ; but I shouldn’t say that, because 
just being here at all is the loveliest, most wonderful thing 
for me. What I meant was that yours is a hoy’s chance, and 
mine is only a girl’s that doesn’t have any real venture 
in it. I suppose I must go now, for Uncle Garret will he 
waiting, and so thirsty. Just one thing more — do you know 
what it all means about us being so thirsty, the thing that 
makes him want it so, and drink and drink till I’m frightened, 
almost? Cousin Alexander said it was something the Wis- 
doms had. Do you have it?” 

“A touch of it perhaps,” replied he reluctantly. 

“I have it too, and it’s a lot worse than it was first, be- 
cause I was not really and truly that way till I came here 
and saw him take so much, and then I knew I’d been 
thirsty myself always, too. Sometimes my throat bums and 
burns when I can’t get it quick, and when I come down here 
where the spring is so full I feel like drinking it all up to 
see if it would really he enough, for once. Alexander said it 
was only the men who had it, and he didn’t think it was 
very bad, hut it is. 

“ You’ve no call to have it; the Postmaster’s right. It’s 
only the men are touched. There’s a verse about it 

“ ‘Son’s sons and daughter’s sons’ — it says.” 

“O, yes, I know that too, hut what made it come, first, 
and what does it truly mean?” 

“I don’t know the story very plain,” said he, troubled 


314 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


at her concern and belief in the strange abnormality. “It was 
a drink of water some of the men-folk away back wouldn’t 
give, to a gipsy, I guess, and so the gipsy put a curse on 
us ■” 

“A curse!” cried she. u O, not a curse on our dear lovely 
name ! O, that is dreadful ! Don’t you know any more about 
it?” 

“Not a thing. I’d heard of folks being the worse of liquor, 
but ’twas a new song that anybody could be the worse of 
water. I never even heard tell of the thirst till I came here 
to Halfway, and then almost before I knew it I had kind of 
taken it up myself. But you’ve no call to feel it, if it’s 
only the men-folk who were touched.” 

“I have, though, and so has Lisheth ” 

“Well, that proves it’s silly for us to think it’s a special 
thing on us, for she’s not the family, even if she is at the 
Island now.” 

“Why, so she’s not!” said Joan in relieved tones, “and 
maybe I could get over it. But a curse , Pelig. I never 
heard of a curse except about witches, and devils, and things, 
you know. 0, 1 can’t bear to think it’s that !” 

“I’ll tell you something,” said he, “that I wouldn’t have 
maybe mentioned only for you feeling so bad about it all. 
Do you remember that day I met you girls on the Island 
road, and I was going to see old Jem, the gipsy, who died, 
you know, next day? Well, I asked him about it, and he 
didn’t seem to think I better believe in it too much, and kind 
of argued I could knock it off, now, all right, while I was 
young. He was a great old crone to talk, and what he said 
sounded kind of more weighty there alone in the woods, and 
he the last one of the tribe.” 

“I wish I could have seen him! Phoebe was going to 
take me, only he died. What did he tell you to do to stop 
it?” 

“He said it fastened itself most on those who had done dark 
deeds, or had broody minds or cankered hearts. I remember 


JOAN IS MISTEESS AT HALEWAY 315 


his very words because I wrote them down afterward so I 
wouldn’t forget them, for he gave me what he said would be 
a charm to keep it off, and it was this, that if you were happy, 
and did good deeds, and had a cheerful way, it would lose 
its grip on you. I wrote it all out so I’d have it by me — 
‘good deeds and a singing heart.’ It sounds good, don’t you 
think? I never heard before about a singing heart, but 
I guess it’s the kind you’ve got, so you are all right” 

“It sounds perfectly beautiful, Pelig, and I’m going to 
say it over and over, but you see it means we’ve got to be it, 
too. Just saying it over won’t help us.” 

“I reckon they’ll soon need to say something to keep them 
from being thirsty down at the Island. Their well has just 
about gone dry, like it has twice before since ’twas dug. 
There’s no rain water for their tanks, either, and I don’t 
know what they’ll do if it doesn't rain soon. I was down 
to say good-bye.” 

“O Pelig, and you saw them all, the darling things — and 
I can’t go !” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, because we’re not friendly, you know, and Uncle 
Garret doesn’t want me to go there.” 

“You went the day Mrs. Wisdom came home, to get the 
doctors. He didn’t try to keep you back then, did he ?” 

“Why no, he told me to go, and to go quickly, and he was 
so nice and kind when I got back, and had some of that good 
tamarind drink all ready for me.” 

“Then I’d go again, and get some more of it.” 

Joan laughed, but sobered again. “He wouldn’t stand it, 
I’m sure, for he said I couldn’t. And I do so want to see 
Lisbeth. Was she better, Pelig? She was up in bed that 
day.” 

“She’s downstairs now, but has to keep quiet for a lot of 
weeks, they said. You and she could have had good times 
together, and it’s right down mean you can’t have them. 
Guess what Mr. Amsey Wisdom gave me — twenty-five dollars, 


316 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


in new bills, and all laid out in a folder. I fought against 
taking it, but you know that easy way of his. ‘O shucks/ 
said he, ‘why, what else were folks made into families for 
but to give each other a boost when we need it ? But don’t you 
waste one cent of it/ said he, ‘or I’ll haunt you so you can’t 
sleep ! Just keep it on hand so you won’t feel a pauper/ and 
he’d hear no more words about it. Me with a folder of bills ! 
Why, I’ll lose my head if I don’t look out.” 

“0, no, you won’t, because you’ve got to keep your singing 
heart, and that will hold you steady. But it was dear for 
Uncle Amsey to give you so much.” 

“Miss Orin too had a present. She had a pile of fine 
white handkerchiefs all marked with ‘W’, for her brother, but 
she made me take them, and promise her I’d always keep a 
clean one with the folds in it, in my pocket — said it would be 
a ‘hall-mark.’ I don’t know what that means, but it’s 
a go, all right, if she says so, and I’ll do it sure. 
Gee, but that’s two things were never in my pockets before, 
a folder of bills and a white hankie!” 

“And I haven’t got a single thing for you,” said Joan in 
rueful voice. “I feel so mean, for we ought to do more 
for you at Halfway where you’ve been so good and kind to 
us all.” 

“You don’t have to, for you see it was Halfway gave me 
my start, and you more than any of the rest, so you’ve done 
enough already; and I’ll always feel it was mostly you who 
helped me fight to set my father’s name up in the world 
again.” 

“But it’s nicer to give something you can put in your 
pocket, that you can see, and feel of, and use; and I’ll send 
you something, Pelig. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do now,” 
for there had come to her a fresh thought with the mention 
of the father who had failed to give his son a foothold for 
a crown of remembrance — the thought of the struggle the son 
might have, if he had in him that father’s weakness. 

“Let’s both of us promise, right now,” she said, “that 


JOAN IS MISTRESS AT HALEWAY 317 


we’ll drop all that dreadful old thing about the curse , and 
the silly fancy we have of believing in it, or think- 
ing we’ve got to be thirsty! Will you do it? I’ll dare, if 
you will, and we’ll fight and fight it, Relig, with every hit of 
strength we’ve got in us. 

<r Will you, truly, truly promise ?” 

“It’s a big contract, and going to he a tough one to 
carry through.” 

“I know it, hut we’ve got the charm , . And I’m not going 
to believe it was a curse, anyway, but just a silly old gipsy 
notion. Let’s shake hands on it, right across the spring. 
I’m not afraid, for I’m going to win out, with myself and 
the help I can get. Pelig, wouldn’t it he splendid if we 
could break the whole thing all up and get Uncle Garret 
over it, too?” 

“Reckon we hadn’t better tackle anybody but ourselves at 
first go off,” said he. “Far as I’ve noticed he hasn’t what 
the old gipsy called the singing heart. But you have, and 
I’ll promise you. I’d like it pitched off my load, all right, 
for I’ll have drag enough without that on.” 

So across the old Halfway Spring that had bubbled up its 
sparkling water for generations of Wisdoms, the two young 
orphans pledged their word, to break, within themselves at 
least, the hands of the strange malediction that had followed 
so many a one of the race with its uncanny spell — “fastening 
itself most upon those who from doing of dark deeds had 
cankered hearts and brooding minds.” 

And when John Wisdom had carried up the brimming 
pail to the garden gate, he went out from Halfway. 

“O, dear me,” thought J oan as she went on up the garden 
path. “This has been an awfully lonesome and hard day, 
and I wonder if they’re all going to he the same. And Aunt 
Hetty never to come hack, and Pelig gone! Whatever will 
we do without them both!” 

But when she reached the house there was great news for 
her ears. Uncle Garret had announced that from now on 


318 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


lie would be dining and baying bis supper with ber and 
Phoebe, at tbe big round table. 

“Says it will be less lonely for you,” sniffed Pboebe as sbe 
detailed tbe orders to Joan, “as if there was nobody but you 
around to be considered, and as if he’d done nothing all 
bis days but regard other people’s feelings! If I hadn’t 
known be was such a good provider I’d think be was coming 
to spy out tbe land, to see what food you and I bad to 
eat ; but be lets Halfway be run with a generous band, with 
plenty of everything, and enough over for a dozen who might 
drop in; it pleases bis grand idea of style.” 

“He must be feeling better; and maybe, Pboebe, be is 
going to get all well again. Wouldn’t it be splendid ?” 

“Two straws on a stone don’t make a duck’s nest,” re- 
plied Pboebe, “so don’t plan on us having any less work 
to do waiting on him. He’ll manage to wear us out be- 
tween dawn and dark, same as ever.” 

“If be would only be like be was that night of the party, it 
wouldn’t be so bard to do without Aunt Hetty. He’s never 
been that way since, has be ? He must just have forgotten 
himself that time. He told such funny stories ; be was ador- 
able, that’s tbe very nicest word I know to call him that 
night, because it was such a surprise, wasn’t it?” 

“You’ll not be apt to look upon tbe like again, so don’t 
get up your hopes. Lay bis place careful, and everything 
to bis liking, that there’ll be no row first go off. We don’t 
want to have high words, with Hetty so lately out of tbe 
bouse.” 

But when Pboebe bad drawn bis chair out to tbe table, and 
taken ber own seat opposite him, there was trouble brewing at 
once. 

“ J o-ann is mistress at Halfway,” announced be. “Her place 
is behind tbe tea cups. Go to your proper place, Jo-ann.” 

Sbe hesitated, scarce sensing what be could mean; and 
Pboebe herself did not move. 

“You beard me, Jo-ann,” said ber great-uncle. 


JOAN IS MISTEESS AT HALFWAY 319) 

Phoebe’s face clouded with smothered wrath, but with a 
fine assumed air of lofty indifference she rose and went 
around to the side cover that had been laid for Joan. “Go 
take your seat at the head of the table,” said she. 

“Not at the head of the table. I sit there,” declared the 
Master of Halfway. “I’m not dead yet, nor buried, and 
while I live I am at the head of my own table. Do you 
understand ? She sits in her Aunt’s place. Go to it, girl, at 
once.” 

Joan went. But her young eyes were beclouded with 
the tears she was fighting back, and her small hands fumbled 
over the service. As she set out her great-uncle’s tea cup, 
and lifted the cream jug, its contents spilled under her 
trembling grasp, and the curbed tears would then have fallen 
fast but for sudden remembrance of his admonition about the 
pouring of the water. 

“ Pour high, and you'll not dribble; pour high in all you 

dor 

Quick as it came to her aid she obeyed its dictates, and 
the old sharp, shrewd eyes watching her, noted it, the change 
of movement, and the result, both upon the cream and the 
girl herself. She straightened in her chair, and finished 
the pouring with a pretty and a brave grace that pleased him 
immensely. 

“I can’t make it very good, yet,” she said, passing his 
own over to Uncle Garret, “but Phoebe will have to teach 
me how,” holding over a second cup to the dethroned 
Phoebe. 

“No, thanks,” replied that worthy, curtly. “I’ll brew 
and mix one to my own taste later on, and meantime drink 
water that I suppose I’ll be allowed to pour for myself, help- 
ing drain the spring dry.” 

“Ha ! Ha!” chuckled he, but did not further express aloud 
the satisfaction he felt in her downfall from the seat of 
power, nor the pleasure he derived from noting the poise 
of Joan. “Gad,” said he to himself, as he watched her. 


320 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“She’s the making of a fine woman. Most girls would have 
slobbered over, or sulked, or funked outright, hut she rose 
to it gallantly! Just like Joan when our mother died, just 
like her for all the world, taking her place so proud that first 
night, white faced, hut steady, as if to say, ‘I’d be a poor 
daughter of the house if I couldn’t carry on what has fallen 
to my lot to do.’ ” 

That memory brought others, past, and with them the 
shadow of the present loneliness, the problems, too, that 
stretched ahead; and though Joan asked him some questions 
he answered them briefly; the usurped one spoke not at all; 
so the meal was silent, save for the necessary meagre civili- 
ties of service. 

Joan cleared it away herself, no sight of Phoebe about; 
brought up the fresh water, read to Uncle Garret, lingered 
later about the west room where Aunt Hetty used to sit 
and sew; still Phoebe came not. But later on, when Uncle 
Garret had been made ready for night she heard her come 
out from the wing rooms, shutting the door behind her with 
a sharp hang that sent an echoing ring through the lonely 
space, ascending the stairs with resounding tread. 

Joan had herself gone up to bed, sitting awhile to think, 
as she often did before undressing, in front of the big win- 
dow that o’erlooked the lane. But when the steps went past 
her door she ran out quickly and overtook Phoebe, slipping 
her young slim arms up round the broad shoulders. 

“Phoebe, it wasn’t my fault,” she cried, “and you’ve just 
got to be good and love me, for there’s only us left now.” 

“There’s more than myself has to be good,” .said Phoebe 
curtly. “And I’m the smallest part of who’s left at Halfway, 
if to-night’s a sample of how things are to go.” 

“I don’t care, you’ve got to love me, Phoebe,” pleaded 
Joan. Phoebe went on her way, unresponsive to the plead- 
ing. 

But after Joan had fallen asleep, a light fitful slumber 
that was broken with the strange and sad sights that had 


JOAN IS MISTRESS AT HALFWAY 321 

come to her young eyes these past days — little Aunt Hetty 
upon her narrow bed carried out of Halfway, the cold dark 
grave where they laid her, all the cruel and earthly mystery 
of Death — she suddenly waked from out the troubled pangs 
to hear a low sound within the room, like a chair rocking 
back and forth in rhythmic motion. And by the bright 
moonlight saw Phoebe, rocking, and singing with low cadence 
the dear hymn that had been sung downstairs when Aunt 
Hetty was being carried away : 

“There is a la-a-and mine eye hath seen — ” 

crooning soft through some of the dear and precious words ; 
out clear again, in treble pitch, through the stanzas sung 
that day, and on into a third which Joan had never heard- — 

“There sweeps no de-e-es-o-lating wind, 

Across that calm serene abode, 

The traveller there a home may fi-i-ind, 

Within the Pa-a-ar-i-dise of God, 

Within the Par-a-a-a-dise of God.” 

So soft the singing words yet so triumphant their calm 
assurance, calling her fearful thoughts from earth’s claims 
away, up to Aunt Hetty’s new-found home on high ; all that 
had spread between, of dark, and dread, and quiet chill clay, 
now with that radiant glory fraught. Hushed and com- 
forted thereby, she accepted it as the singer had proffered 
it, without comment; and with no further fears slept the 
long night through, untroubled. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


STORIES OF THE LOOM ROOM 

W ELL along in the forenoon, when Joan judged that 
Phoebe had come to a leisure hour in the day’s oper- 
ations, she sought her out. 

“Phoebe,” said she, “will we go in the loom-room now?” 
“Well, I’ve been invited there once already, with my 
appetite all whetted for it, and then had the door slammed 
in my face,” replied Phoebe, busy at a bureau drawer within 
her own bedroom. “I’m not much for warmed over dishes 
myself.” 

“But I do want to see everything so much, Phoebe.” 
“You’re free to go in and out as you please, hut it’s no 
more toothsome to me, now, than shoe-peg sauce that’s all skin 
and stones once the juice is out of the barberries.” 

“But Phoebe,” urged Joan. “I don’t believe I can wait 
any longer for it, and I do wish you would come, so we 
could see it together.” 

Phoebe’s attention was arrested. “Wait any longer!” she 
echoed. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ve not yet been 
inside ?” 

“Yes, I do mean it. I waited for you, you know.” 
“You’re the oddest freak I ever heard of, if it’s true. 
Hankering after sight of it so had that you climbed the 
roofs to get your first peep, and coveting it so afterwards 
that you braved your Uncle’s temper to get the key, and yet 
not set a foot inside it for over three weeks ! I can’t believe 
it. I’ve not so much as shaken the knob of it myself, to see 
whether it was open or locked, but I supposed you were 

322 


STOEIES OF THE LOOM ROOM 323 

in and out at your will. I don’t see how you ever kept 
away.” 

“I did it for you both,” explained Joan, by this time 
back in her own bedroom, with Phoebe a half-loth follower 
across the threshold. “I did it for Aunt Hetty first,” said 
she, standing back against the old door. “You know what 
I told you, that she had promised to have it opened up and 
to let me learn to weave, and so it seemed as if I shouldn’t 
have got it, myself, while she was away. And then — when 
I told you that, and you didn’t like it, Phoebe, and she 
came home so sick that I knew she would never go in her- 
self, why I just thought I’d keep on waiting, till it seemed 
perfectly right to me to go. But there never has been 
a real chance till to-day, has there ?” 

It was the Phoebe of the rocking-chair, repentant though 
not admitting it in speech, who stepped across beside Joan 
that they might enter together the broad low door of the 
old chamber. And it was a mellowed Phoebe who took the 
young girl around it, from homely treasure to treasure, 
telling of their uses or their associations, such strange and 
new things which until that other day’s quest had never 
met Joan’s gaze or ken. 

Phoebe mounted her in correct position upon the bench 
of the small loom, sitting up beside her, explaining the 
mechanism of the old structure, the harness, the yarn beams, 
the heddle eyes, and how to tramp the treadle, till Joan felt 
sure she could move it herself, and keep it at work, too, when 
once it should be put in running order and “a piece set up” 
upon its yards. All the while, though, her eyes were often 
turning across the room where sat the big old one with the 
cloth already upon it. 

“Why couldn’t I learn on that ?” she asked. “It will take 
us so long to get yarns to set up a new piece on this.” 

“It’s too big for your arms, as yet.” 

“But the cloth is so pretty, and I could do it, I really be- 
lieve, now,” and she was down fleet from off her seat and 


324 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

up upon the other, running her fingers through the stretching 
threads above. 

But Phoebe was as quick behind her, sweeping her off 
the long bench and upon her feet below before J oan had even 
time to protest. 

“We’ll do no weaving on that loom, and it’s no use mincing 
matters any longer, either, now that the place is yours,” said 
Phoebe. “That’s what we call the ‘unlucky piece.’ Six 
people since it was set up have tried their hand on it to 
weave it out, and been dead before ’twas finished. Maybe 
there’s nothing to it, and maybe there is, but here’s the piece, 
and up in the graveyard are those who dared to toss the 
shuttles. That was why your grandmother Joan had the 
small loom built. Her father wouldn’t let her touch this 
big one, and she wove fine things upon her small one, linens 
and woollens both. She was crazy about it, riding horseback 
and weaving, always at one or the other thing, till she fell in 
love and ran away and left her loom and her horse, and 
Halfway that had been so proud of her.” 

“It looks so new, though, where the dust is brushed off, 
see! And they’re such lovely colours, Phoebe! I don’t be- 
lieve it can be so old, and I don’t see how it could give what 
you call that bad luck when it hasn’t any life itself.” 

“Maybe it can’t, but I’m not the one to tempt its power, 
nor shall you, since you’re under my care now, even if you 
are mistress of Halfway. 

“As for its being new looking and bright, that’s because we 
got the colourings in those old days from the Indians who 
knew the roots and barks through as slick as if they followed 
a dyer’s trade, — butternut for browns, wild indigo for blues, 
and logwood dye stuffs that would make a poppy blush for 
shame. I expect the yarns are rotten, maybe, and moths may 
have got into the web here and there between the folds, but 
the colours haven’t faded a shade from the day they were 
dipped from the pots.” 


STOEIES OF THE LOOM EOOM 


325 


' 

“Who died, Phoebe, for weaving on it?” asked Joan, her 
yoice dropping low in the dim and shadowy room. 

“There were some you wouldn’t know of, women who used 
to go out weaving. But there was your Uncle Garret’s own 
mother, for one, and the second wife after her ” 

“The gipsy wife?” interrupted Joan. Phoebe ejaculated 
her surprise. “What do you know about that ?” 

So J oan told her of the tomb-stone in the old burial-ground, 
and without doubt gave news to her listener, for Phoebe 
dropped upon a seat in her surprise, and asked many a ques- 
tion. 

“I see where there’s a visit to the graveyard due me,” said 
she, “and Nat will take me up on Sunday coming, if I can 
get him word.” 

“ ‘ The gipsy wife of Uriah Wisdom / Somebody’s been 
playing tricks up there, or paying off old scores. I’ll 
be able to know which, when I see it. I suppose it’s no harm 
to tell you about her. You’re growing up into a young 
woman soon, and if you are to stay on here will have to get 
more or less acquainted with the family history. I don’t 
remember seeing her myself more than a few times. She be- 
longed to the gipsies who came every year to the beech grove, 
was born when they were in camp here, and your Uncle 
Garret’s mother had a christening for her, and gave her her 
own name, Joan, to add to the Meg or Polly or whatever 
other gipsy one they tucked on. Whenever the tribe was 
here she got a lot of petting from the Halfway folks, and once 
or twice she was left behind for a winter, learning house- 
work, and to read and sew. When the woman she was named 
for had her last sickness, the girl took almost all care of her. 
Deft and handy I’ve heard them say she was, too, about the 
nursing, and fond of the two children, Garret and Joan; 
and when the end finally came she stayed right on as house- 
keeper for a year or so, then suddenly she and the old 
Squire surprised everybody by getting themselves married. 
He was ailing somewhat in his head at times and nobody 


326 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


could manage him well as she could, so it wasn’t a had thing 
to have her there at hand. The children didn’t properly 
sense it at first, hut soon as they got a bit older Garret took 
a dreadful dislike to her, and Joan began to feel the hurt 
to their pride that a gipsy girl should he her father’s wife, 
and they set themselves against her so that it wasn’t a happy 
life for any of them — though the woman was kind to them 
all, I’ve heard say.” 

All at once Joan remembered the coloured print she had 
seen upon the wall, of the gipsy hand at their noontide 
rest by the wayside. She hunted it up and took Phoebe 
around to view it. “Must have been hung here by the 
woman herself for a memory of her old life,” said 
Phoebe, and the thought of it made her seem a vital presence 
there, the quick mind of J oan’s picturing her as plain as if 
she stood with them now in the old chamber. 

“Tell me every single thing you know about her,” begged 
she. “Did she weave on this big loom ?” 

“It’s too long a story for one telling, hut you’ll get it 
here and there as time goes on. She was happier after her 
own child came, though Garret and Joan didn’t take to her, 
a dark-hrowed, black-haired little thing, all gipsy, except 
her eyes, but the old Squire doted on her.” 

“O, Phoebe, I just knew this dear room was full of 
stories as well as all these other lovely old things. I wish 
you hadn’t any work to do, so you could talk and talk. What 
became of her, and the little girl too? Would the other 
gipsies come to Halfway to see her? To think I never 
even saw one in all my life, and now I’m finding out there 
were some right in our own family. Would you think Uncle 
Garret would mind if I asked him about them? I’d love 
to hear about that little dark-browed girl. Would he tell 
me ?” 

“Would he?” sniffed Phoebe. “Well, if you value our 
peace you’ll let that subject alone, nor let him know you’ve 
even heard of it. He told you to hold your tongue as to the 


STORIES OF THE LOOM ROOM 


327 


room and all it contained, stories or whatever else you find 
here. There was a picture of the little girl used to hang 
down in the drawing room, beside the big one of Garret and 
his sister now over here on the wall. The old Squire had 
the artist come out from Halifax and paint the whole family. 
The big one up here, and a small one of the gipsy and her 
child, disappeared from downstairs when Garret came back 
to Halfway ten years ago, and nobody knew nor dared to ask 
him where they’d been taken. But the day I crawled down 
through the skylight I soon saw where one of them was. 
Likely he might have destroyed the other. Orin is the 
proper one to remember tales of the old life here. I was back 
and forth, but younger. 

“How go on through the place by yourself, for I hear a 
call downstairs. It’s your own quarters, anyway, not mine, 
but I’ll help you clean it up, and I know where I can get 
the yarns, all ready to set up a plain piece on the little loom. 
George’s mother will come and give us a start on it, for I’ve 
most forgotten myself. But stay away from the other, 
that’s all I have to say, and once ought to be enough to say 
it, after what I’ve told you.” 

“I suppose I will,” said Joan, still lingering by the big 
brown-beamed structure as if held by some strange fascina- 
tion. “But, Phoebe, I can’t understand it, how it ever got 
to be unlucky in the first place.” 

“If people understood about luck and ill luck there wouldn’t 
be such a thing known. I can’t tell you any more than I’ve 
heard. The two women who were here weaving, one after 
the other, were taken sick, and died. And it made the story 
go round the neighbourhood so nobody else cared to go at it; 
then the Mistress herself said she’d finish it off, but she too 
was stricken, so after that nobody could be got to undertake 
it, though the word went round at the time of the gipsy 
woman’s death that she too had tried her hand at it, but I 
doubt that, though a gipsy wouldn’t be as afraid to chance it 
as some of us might, for they are born fatalists.” 


328 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“Pd like to see the cloth spread out/’ said Joan, still 
fingering the old web and blowing from off it the heavy dust. 
“Such a pretty stripe of blue and red, Phoebe, and started 
so long ago too ; it’s almost like a story book, itself, isn’t it ? 
I think I would like to have a dress off of it, to make 
up to it, you know, for having to wait here in the dark so 
long. Would it have been planned for a dress for my 
grandmother, that other Joan, do you think?” 

“Like as not. It’s as fine yarn as I ever saw spun, and 
would have been as smooth as any web on a shop shelf. 
We all wore home weaves when I was a little girl, but soon 
got onto shop stuff. Now they are starting it up again, and 
I hear that Annabel, that is George’s mother, has got out 
three pieces, though only plain weaves.” 

“Maybe she would finish this one out for us.” 

“Maybe not! Halfway is spooky enough of itself with 
being closed so long, and all the old stories about Joan’s 
eloping, and the gipsies, and plenty beside ; and to ask any- 
body to come here and put their hands at anything so un- 
lucky as this piece of cloth has been, is asking what you 
know wouldn’t be granted. Get your mind off it, let it be 
here as a kind of relic of old days, and a memory of your 
folks long gone. We’ll clear up the place bright and nice, 
and once the dust and dirt are out, and things in order, with 
the sun and air flowing in, you won’t dwell upon it so much. 
Tell me what you want cleared up, and what you don’t. I 
run the rest of the house, but this and your own chamber 
are your property, though if I were you I’d begin at that 
long closet under the eaves.” 

All the next hour Joan wandered about the old place, 
eager and joyful in her explorations, now a drawer pulled 
out in the tables, here a survey of the eave-closet, 
there a lifting of old chest covers for a peep within, 
up on a chair to the high narrow casements of old amber 
glass like those in Aunt Hetty’s bedroom, these so thick with 
the dust of the long years that scarce a ray pierced through. 


STORIES OF THE LOOM ROOM 


329 


But oftenest she would find herself drawn to those two 
things, the big loom and the portrait of the radiant youthful 
figures of Uncle Garret and his sister. The figures seemed 
inmates of the room, everything else old around the great 
house, and only these young, with her. And scarce knowing 
it herself, she began to build a new Uncle Garret from out 
it, an uncle with a young man’s handsome grace, and the 
chivalry of a protecting arm within his heart. 

As the noon horn sounded, with its winding call, came a 
twinge of remorse that she had stayed there all the hour away 
from the wing rooms where he must have needed her. But 
it was hard to leave the place. “Good-bye, dear things!” 
said she aloud, to the two in the portrait, tossing up a light 
kiss from her fingers as she turned reluctantly away. 

“It’s all lovely hut that big unlucky loom,” she thought. 
And why must there have been that strange haunting story 
so that she must ever feel the awe and dread of it, just as the 
awful curse of the thirst hung forever now about the dear 
fine family name, and the spell of his harsh moods upon 
handsome Uncle Garret. If only the spell of all three could 
be broken, then there would he easier solving of the rest 
of the problems in the days ahead. 

Uncle Garret was already in his place at the table 
when she went down, making no comment upon her absence, 
he and Phoebe engaged in the proper price and value which 
should have been put upon Phoebe’s small property in the 
recent assessment roll, when they spoke at all. But for the 
most part the meal was partaken of in silence, the shadow 
of Aunt Hetty’s departure still heavy upon the household, 
though no word of it passed their lips. 

“He wants you with him this afternoon,” said Phoebe, 
as she and Joan cleared away the meal. “So, as I’ve noth- 
ing special on my hands I’ll clean out the loom room. If 
you’d rather he with me to see that I carry nothing away, I’ll 
not go at it, but otherwise I’ll have it all dusted and 
shining by night, for Amanda has no other special work and 


330 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


can scrub the whole thing through. It’s too dirty a place for 
you to roam about now. I notice your dress is all dusty 
and marked. You’ll not know it with to-morrow’s sun shin- 
ing clear through the windows, though it’s a westering room 
and will show up best at sundown. Is it a go, or not ? The 
place is yours and you’ve the say over it.” 

Joan laughed. “It’s a go,” said she, “and of course I wish 
I could he there too, to help. But don’t really put it in 
order, Phoebe, because I’d like to do that much toward it 
myself, to pay up, you know, for the having of it. And I’ll 
like to find out things for myself, as I keep on exploring.” 

“I was expecting that,” retorted Phoebe. “You’ve got 
that failing of the family, all right, not trusting to others to 
do your work or your planning for you.” 

“Why, Phoebe, I didn’t mean that you couldn’t do it 
right.” 

“0, I’m not offended this time. You simply meant what 
you meant. I haven’t been born of the Wisdoms not to know 
their ways. I’ve my own share too, maybe, and I see them 
beginning to stick out all over you, young as you are. If 
you were older, now, you’d be thinking I couldn’t even do 
the labour part as good as you could, that I’d raise more dust 
than you would, and all that sort of foolishness !” 

Joan was beginning to understand Phoebe a bit, and she 
made no reply, for however prickly or hard she might appear 
to-day Joan knew it was the same Phoebe who had sung her 
asleep last night, and so she just gave her a quiet smile and 
went on into the wing rooms. 

But in the early evening when Uncle Garret smoked and 
dozed she stole up to her “westering room.” The floor was 
scrubbed and sanded, the window panes clear and shining, 
no trace of dust on table or chair or wheel, the long closet 
beneath the eaves cleared of cobwebs and lint, everything 
fresh and sweet as soap and water could make it — all but the 
big black-beamed loom which still held its heavy coating of 


STOEIES OF THE LOOM EOOM 


331 


dust — the small one rubbed and polished like the wheels, hut 
this shadowy old unlucky one untouched. 

The sun cast down its rays through the mellowed glass in 
colours of amber and rose, the portrait glowed like life, but 
that big old dark structure was a part of the Past, was en- 
veloped in the mystery of Death, and Chance, it “ate up the 
light,” and all the treasured other things within the cham- 
ber. The coloured threads stretched up upon the yards, 
lost their gay tinge ; the stripes upon the beam below, their 
bright hues ; and there seemed to be forms flitting about it, 
seeking to weave the strands but dying instead. 

It troubled her, the ill-omened thing, as the story of the 
‘thirst’ had done, and she beat her young heart in pro- 
test against them, her keen, clear thought to their solving, 
but gained no comfort ; for there was the loom and the piece 
of cloth upon it that Phoebe, for fear of Death, had not even 
so much as touched; within her own small throat was 
burning a great craving for the water she had denied herself 
that she might keep her tryst of honour with the boy; and 
now this treasure-house she had so coveted for her own was 
marred by the ugly scar of boding portent that lurked about 
the old loom’s shape. 

“I’ll lock it in for to-night,” she thought, and turning the 
ponderous key she made her way downstairs to where Phoebe 
was, at her knitting. 

“I want you to tell me something, and I want to tell you 
something,” said she, sitting in the little low chair where she 
had often sat while Aunt Hetty matched and pieced her 
squares. 

“Well, ask on, and let me do my talking while I’m in a 
plain place,” said Phoebe, “for presently I’ll be fashioning 
the heel and won’t have wits for aught else, then that will 
be your chance for your own story.” 

“Phoebe, I want to know about my grandmother Joan. 
I just hear little bits, but don’t know the real whole thing.” 

“You’ll only get more bits, from me,” replied Phoebe, 


332 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“for she only lived around these parts till she was nineteen. 
I was younger than she was and my home being way down 
river I didn’t see her often. She rode a black horse of her 
own, and a bright blue habit, and was a gay picture round 
the countryside.” 

“Does that picture of her up in my loom-room look like 
her ?” 

“As like as it could, and she was about your own age 
then, I’d judge.” 

“O, I wish I could have seen her.” 

“Well, go look in your glass; you’re another of her in 
feature and general make-up, but she had the proud look of 
being well kept and at the head of things, where you’ve been 
tossed about here and there with nothing much to call your 
own,” said Phoebe with bluntness. 

“Put don’t be cast down because you’ve had lack of 
luxuries,” added she. “You’ve had experiences, which are 
worth far more to you; the tossing about with people has 
taught you how to get on with them, and to find a flower 
blooming no matter how waste the wayside. I’ve noticed 
that, and I guess I’ve given you enough rough rubs to make 
it only fair I should tell you this, though as a rule much praise 
isn’t good for us. Joan Wisdom, having had things mostly her 
own way, thought she ought to be allowed to marry as she 
chose, and in spite of Garret’s and the old Squire’s objections 
to the half-cousin from the Island, ran off with him, and 
her father refused to let her back, or to will her any of his 
means, giving all he had, instead, to Garret. Of course that 
will was made before he married the gipsy girl. 

“I’ve heard it said that in his last days he drew up another 
one, giving Halfway to her, and only some outlying lands 
for Garret, because they had a bit of a quarrel over some- 
thing one day. But that’s only hearsay, and he’d have been 
in his dotage all right to do it, for Halfway should properly 
go to Garret, his son, a man of the name, who could carry it 


STOEIES OF THE LOOM EOOM 333 

on as it had been run for nearly a hundred years before him, 
instead of to a lot of gipsies.” 

“But I thought you told me she was a good woman.” 

“She was, according to her ability, but she could never have 
handled Halfway, and if it had been all left to her she would 
likely have had the whole tribe of them up here in these fine 
rooms and living off her bounty. But she died herself, only 
a few weeks after her husband.” 

“Because she tried to weave on that piece of cloth, 
Phoebe?” 

Phoebe caught the eager note in the voice and noted the 
intense expression upon Joan’s face. “How don’t go fussing 
round about that loom,” said she, “you take things too deep 
down. I told you what was known about it, and that you best 
not meddle with it, and since you may not think my word is 
enough, I’ll tell you now that it was your IJncle Garret him- 
self who forbade you touching it and ordered me to see that 
you didn’t. It’s just the same to-day as it was in the Garden 
of Eden, forbid folks something and they want it. You’ve 
all the other things in the room at your hand. What makes 
you hanker after that old loom ?” 

“It isn’t hankering after it, Phoebe. It’s because I hate 
to think about there being anything sad and dreadful in my 
lovely room, and I don’t want to believe it, for how could 
there truly be anything in that pretty cloth to make people 
sick? Do you really believe it?” 

“The real common sense of me doesn’t, nor the part of me 
that trusts to a Power that guides us all. But we’re queerly 
made up, and there’s something in everybody that stands in 
awe of a mystery, and though I don’t admit even to myself 
that the old web of cloth up there has any power to cause my 
death, yet I wouldn’t want to risk it, in dare-devil fashion 
running my head in the way of bad luck, seeing as I’ve still 
hopes that Hannah may give up living, some day yet, and 
Hat and I be keeping house up on the Hill Farm ! 

“How I’m done talking,” she added, “for I’m coming into 


334 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


the narrows, and if I don’t keep a sharp look out at the wheel 
I’ll get off my course and more stitches one side than the 
other. It’s your turn now for what you wanted to tell me 
yourself. I’m done with my story.” 

Joan was not half satisfied, nor a quarter. She wanted 
to ask about the little girl, that “dark-browed, dark-haired 
little thing all gipsy except her eyes,” who must have once 
played here at Halfway, in and out the big rooms. What had 
become of her when Halfway was shut up so long ago ! She 
would have liked also to hear more about the girl who had 
been a runaway bride, like the first one who had come there 
on a black horse with a rose upon her breast. Such a lot of 
stories there must be yet to hear, and only Phoebe to tell 
them, unless, as Cousin Alexander had said, she could hear 
them from Uncle Garret or lovely stately Aunt Orin. And 
her very own mother and father, too, somebody must know 
about them — Would Phoebe, she wondered, and longed to 
ask, but did not, knowing from previous experiences that if 
Phoebe chose to talk, she talked, and if she chose not to, no 
persuasions could induce her. 

Moreover it was time for the water to be brought up, also 
the evening reading hour was approaching, so, reluctantly, 
she dropped the other subjects, and ventured to speak about 
Phoebe’s presence in her room the night before. 

“I never, never had any one sing me to sleep in all my 
life,” she said, her eyes partly upon the woman and yet out 
on that far gaze that gave pathos to her glance. “I’ve often 
heard them rocking and singing to the children, in places 
where I was staying, and wished I could have had a mother 
to do it for me. And, Phoebe, couldn't you come again, 
sometimes, just while it’s so lonesome V 9 

“I maybe can, and I maybe can’t. Take it when I come, 
and make no comments. I hate things worn to a rag by talk- 
ing about them,” replied Phoebe, and bent again to her knit- 
ting, a finality in word and tone that her little listener well 


STORIES OF THE LOOM ROOM 


335 


understood, for she turned away, even though she fain would 
have had a promise, instead, to rest upon. 

But though Phoebe gave no assurances, yet often of a night, 
after that, when Joan would be lying still, in that first deli- 
cious drowse, waiting for the little quivers of consent ’twixt 
brain and body for repose of action and will, she would hear 
the footfalls across her room, and presently some low old- 
time refrain with soft sung words; so lulling and satis- 
fying the melody that scarce ever did she hear it through 
to its close — the woman who had never known children to 
brood at nightfall and the girl who had never heard a 
mother’s rock-a-hye song, giving and taking from each other’s 
robbed and lonelv lives. 


CHAPTER XXX 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATEB 

J O AX was in the wing room, waiting for Uncle Garret to 
finish some letters which presently she would be taking 
to the office to mail. Things had not gone smoothly with 
her through the week past. The unlucky web of cloth upon 
the big loom bothered her. She had opened wide the door 
on the morning after the cleaning of the room, deciding that 
never again would she lock it, but the thought of the tales 
Phoebe had told her of those who had been taken by Death 
because they had dared to weave upon the piece, seemed to cast 
an ominous gloom throughout all the place. 

“I don’t believe a word of it!” she would say over and 
over as it recurred to her sight or thought. And yet there 
was the big black old shape, with the bright hued threads 
glowing from out the darker woof, and the dust of years 
and years upon its frame because Phoebe would not risk even 
touching it! 

Hours she spent within the deep closet, sorting its lit- 
tered contents, yellow covered Chamber’s Journals, Penny 
Magazines, and many another, which would complete the 
files Uncle Garret was having her make of the accumulation 
of the years agone. And she planned to have a good sur- 
prise for him when she should have these all arranged to 
add to his own, breaking for that once the order he had 
given her with the key, that she w T as to speak of nothing 
within the room. 

In the drawer of a table was a collection of odd treasures 
— shells and pictures, gay beads, with odds and ends of 
much else that seemed to her as if they might have been 

336 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 


337 


playthings for a child, and she wondered if the little gipsy 
one had played with them there while her mother sat and 
wove upon the fatal cloth. Even the lovely picture she 
had made in her mind of the grandmother Joan sitting in 
her gay gowns at the smaller one, faded before this other 
which seemed to so dominate the place; and battle though 
she would against it, she could not seem to rid herself of 
its spell, for there was the loom, and to go in, or out, she 
must pass it; while not being able to talk with any one 
concerning it, left her mind more wrought upon by the old 
tales. 

“I can’t say a word about the room. I’m not supposed 
to know about the thirst and the awful curse. I can’t 
go to the Island, nor ask about Uncle Amsey nor Aunt 
Orin, nor Pelig, and it makes me so afraid I’ll say some- 
thing wrong that I’ll soon hardly dare to talk at all!” 
thought she as she sat watching Uncle Garret write his 
letters. “Even Phoebe has to be spoken to just right, or 
else she might go away. And I have to be so careful not 
to make Uncle Garret cross for fear I’ll be sent away my- 
self, that I’m just tired to death watching out for so many 
things !” 

Uncle Garret, sealing his two letters and turning his 
chair to give some instruction concerning them, met the 
troubled look upon the young face, born of her thoughts. 
It moved him to an unusual utterance of concern. “Are 
you not feeling well, Jo-ann?” he asked. 

He had been hard to please, this day. Her eyes had 
smarted several times with tears that did not fall, her 
voice vibrated with suppressed retort, and he had observed 
it with an inner compunction, for w T ell he knew her value 
to him, how capably she undertook and carried through 
many things that gave him satisfaction; her small hands 
so deft over the tasks he set her, her head and heart work- 
ing together giving her a poise that had oft compelled him 
to admiration, and always stirred within him a longing for 


338 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


her good will but without seeming power to draw it forth,' 
so chained was he with his harsh and hitter moods. 

Her own longing for his love would easily have ex- 
pressed itself in words, had she only been sure of his. 
Once when the roses had been abloom, she had come on 
tiptoe within the rooms, from the outer door, thinking 
him perhaps asleep, and saw him with his face bent over 
the bowl of them that sat upon his table, his arms around 
them as if in caress, saying aloud so that she heard, “0, 
you beauties, will I ever get enough of you!” She had 
told no one, but the picture of it had stayed with her, 
put away with those other two compelling ones that 
had so moved her to compassion and admiration. And 
sometimes when he seemed hardest to get on with they 
flashed upon her. She saw them now, as he turned toward 
her with the unexpected interest displayed in the words with 
which he had questioned her; they seemed to break down 
the barrier, and before she had stopped to consider the 
consequences, she had spoken to him out of the tumult of 
her ponderings. 

“I’m all right, thank you,” she said. “But, IJncle Gar- 
ret, what makes the Wisdoms do so many things different 
from other people?” 

“Such as ?” said the old IJncle, in sharp authoritative 

voice, the tone that always seemed to her a threat of some- 
thing harsh to follow, that would sting and burn. This 
time it stung her to combat, though she had not asked her 
question in such a mood but from sole desire of comfort 
for her troubled thoughts. 

“Well, that’s one of them, IJncle Garret, the way you 
spoke; you can kind of knock people down with words. 
Phoebe does, too, often, even though she’s so good other 
times, but she always says they’re just ‘Wisdom ways.’ We 
don’t have to have them, all, do we, unless we want them ?” 

“You have as many yourself, girl, as I ever saw crowded 
into any one Wisdom being,” said the old Uncle. “Every 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 


339 


gesture and movement you make, the tones of your voice, 
your step upon the stair; and that fine scorn in your eyes, 
which only makes them bright, now, may develop as you 
grow old and be the glance in mine that you say people 
are afraid of.” 

“Then I’ll kill it out,” cried she, “and all the others that 
are bad. Why couldn’t we keep only the nice ones ! There 
are lots of the ‘ways’ that I just love.” 

“And how are you to know and cull the had ones from 
those you ‘just love.’ Shall you he the judge for the family ?” 

Joan’s eyes smarted, then she brightened. “We might 
tell each other, and if you told me nice, Uncle Garret, I 
don’t believe I’d mind, for I’d love to fight them out, the 
bad ones.” 

“I’m not with you on that bargain,” said the old man 
curtly. “But it’s none too soon for you to be searching 
out your own frailties, and much more becoming to con- 
fine the search to yourself, Jo-ann. But why not like our 
characteristics? To me you are far more interesting be- 
cause you do possess them, the ones you ‘just love,’ and 
if your eyes are open so early to what you think are ‘bad 
ones,’ you stand a good chance to overcome those, unless 
circumstances should mould your life in a hard way, to 
crush out the lovely traits.” 

“Why couldn’t we fight the circumstances, too. Uncle 
Garret?” 

“You’re up against a big task, and an old one, as old as 
humanity,” said he. “You are bound up with all your 
ancestors, and have their make-up. Battle away if it 
pleases you, on yourself, Jo-ann, but not upon me. I got 
you for company and for help, not for reformer, you under- 
stand.” 

Joan winced at the rebuke, and rose in defence, to main- 
tain her attitude. “I am beginning at myself, Uncle Gar- 
ret. I’m killing out the being thirsty. I’m not letting 
myself have a drink any but the three times a day. And 


340 


JOAN' AT HALFWAY 


that’s another of the things that we have to have, isn’t it? 
No other people drink like we do.” 

“Stop,” said he, striking his cane upon the floor as he 
spoke. “What do yon know about that, and why should you 
think one person drinks more than another?” 

“Why, I thought you had to he thirsty if you were a 
Wisdom, that they all were, because of — the curse , Uncle 
Garret,” said she, her voice lowering upon the dreaded 
words. “And, O, I hate it so, to have anything like a curse 
about my own name — couldn’t we get rid of it, some way !” 

Garret Wisdom’s face flamed with anger. “I presume 
you’ve Phoebe’s wagging tongue to thank for that idle talk. 
I’ll send her from Halfway before the night comes on, 
poisoning your mind with gossip and lies.” 

“0, hut it was not Phoebe who told me about it,” cried 
Joan, aghast at the look upon his face, and fearful of what 
might follow for her daring words. 

“Then who did?” asked he. So she told him, straight, 
all she knew of the strange thing, from what sources 
she had heard it, and of the compact she and Pelig had 
themselves made to break it up; the differing notes of 
dread and eagerness in her narration, and the exultation 
of her decision to battle and break it, showing him all too 
plain how deep the story of the evil spell had taken hold 
upon her. So young she looked to he under its strange 
thrall, so frail to stand out against it when he himself 
could look back the long vista of the years it had held him 
captive with its overpowing sway. 

He pulled himself together sharp, for her sake, the chiv- 
alry in his old heart springing to shield her. “How goes the 
fight,” he asked, lightly, and as if he himself regarded as 
trifling the import of the thing. 

She heard his words with surprise; the easy kindly^ voice 
where she had expected censure or scorn, and he could note 
the relief upon the young face that had been so tense with 
her telling. 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 


341 


“It’s not so very easy fighting,” she answered him. “I 
came downstairs twice, last night, after I got up to bed, 
thinking I’d just have to have a drink, but I didn’t give in. 
And it has only been a couple of weeks yet, so I can’t ex- 
pect to get over it this quick, could I ? I don’t want to 
have it, if I don’t have to, Uncle Garret.” 

“Get it all out of your mind at once, then,” said he. “One 
of the ‘ways’ you are not going to have, yourself, since you 
see its harm and power already. We’ll not speak of it again, 
Jo-ann, till you are older and can understand life better. 
You may get off for the mail now,” and giving her directions 
about the special letters he had been preparing, he turned 
to his desk again. 

She knew there would be no more speech, and was re- 
lieved that the interview had not ended stormily, but felt 
she had not half presented her case, for not at all had she 
broached the tale of the unlucky piece of cloth that spoiled 
for her all the joy of her treasure room; and not one word 
had he said as to his actual belief of the old tale she had told 
him. Something within her there was, though she could 
not have expressed it in ready words, that battled against 
the thought of any evil power being able to send down a 
judgment or punishment upon those who had not themselves 
done the deed that called it forth. That clear little head 
of hers solved it thus far, and the free spirit of her race 
beat against being bound, child though she was, longing to 
have had him say outright that there was no word of truth 
in the story nor power in its spell. 

But he had not said that! And at his own hand was 
the full jug of water; and always there must be the brim- 
ming pail upon the corner shelf; and Aunt Hetty had said 
he might die if he was kept without it! Pelig’s father 
had died of it, though his thirst had been for worse than 
water ! And other people must know about it, for the man 
upon the mailcoach had said over the queer verse — “Sons’ 
sons and daughters’ sons — with that other part of it that 


342 


JOAN" AT HALFWAY 


she could not hear through the whirr of wheels and clash 
of hoof. What could the rest of it have been, and who 
would know it to tell her ? — and at that the rebel in her rose 
again to quell her dread. “ Anyway, I am not going to 
have it myself/’ thought she stoutly as she went down 
the steps, “and Pelig shan’t have it, for it might stop all 
his chances. I’m going to fight it, and get it out of the 
whole family, in some way! If Cousin Alexander is alone 
in the office, I’ll ask him about it again!” 

But Joan was not to get to the office that day, for at 
the bend of the road Phoebe overtook her. “I’ll take the 
letters,” said she, “and wait out the mail. It’s through-train 
day, and probably late at that, and would be a long spell 
for you to be hanging around the office with men-folk. I 
have to go to the store and to make a call or two, so the time 
will pass quicker for me. You kick up your heels a bit and 
stay out in the open. You’re mewed up too close, waiting 
on your Uncle Garret, and now on the top of that you shut 
yourself away in that loom-room. So stay out in the 
sun a while, now, and get the cobwebs and dust out of your 
mind.” 

“But, Phoebe, Uncle Garret will be left alone.” ' 

“He’ll not suffer for that, long as he doesn’t know it. 
What you don’t know, you don’t have to reckon with. If 
he thought nobody was in call at Halfway he’d want more 
things than the two of us could fetch him in a week, and 
want them bad ; but not knowing we’re both out, the chances 
are he’ll get on without needing any help, though it’s not 
safe to bank on chances as far as Garret is concerned. But 
you’re free for an hour or two, anyway, for I wouldn’t have 
gone near him myself in that time even if I had been there, 
unless he called me. Has he water enough and to spare? 
Uever leave him without his fill at hand if you want things 
to go your way.” 

“Would anything happen to him if he didn’t have it, 
Phoebe?” asked Joan, walking on a bit beside her. 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 


343 


“Something would happen to you, if you were near by after 
he’d craved it an hour and been denied!” 

“Do you have it, the ‘thirst/ Phoebe, and do you really 
believe in it?” 

“My thirst is for something more than plain water. 
I’m for tea and coffee when I want a drink. As for 
believing it or not, that the men-folks of the family 
are forever hankering after a drink and can’t get enough, 
if that’s what you mean, why, what’s the use of you and 
me fussing over whether it’s so or not so, since we don’t 
have to he afflicted ourselves? I don’t know how it ever 
happened that the women got left out of it, unless it was 
because ’twas a woman made the curse and she knew we’d 
enough already in the one Eve brought us.” 

“But, Phoebe, you don’t really and truly believe it, do 
you ?” 

“Down in my boots I don’t, but it’s hard to pull away 
from anything that’s come through in a family, root and 
stem, like that old spell has. You can kick against it if 
you go up higher than earth for its authority, but commonly 
speaking, a curse is a curse and a seventh son is a seventh 
son and the Devil’s the Devil, and you can’t argue them 
away. The week my father died, a white rose bloomed 
out in the garden, in the middle of December, with the 
snow a foot deep on the ground and not a leaf on the hush. 
And my sister once had a clock, a dead one that hadn’t 
spoken for twenty years, sound out six strokes right where 
they all were sitting, and in six days to the hour her two 
children were killed by a waggon, right before her eyes. 
The rose didn’t do it, nor the clock, for there’s a power 
higher than these has the charge of life and death; but if 
I saw and heard those two things happen again to-morrow, 
I’d maybe be silly enough to think my days were num- 
bered, even though I didn’t actually believe they had aught 
to do with it. The trouble with you is that you take it all 
too seriously. Just throw them behind you, those old stories 


344 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


that belong to Halfway and the Wisdom name, and live 
your own life as you want to, in spite of them.” 

“I can’t seem to, Phoebe, for they are so plain to me. I 
never heard of things like that till I came here, and I hate 
to have anything bad and hard about what I’m just be- 
ginning to be so glad to be a part of. Everywhere I go 
in the loom-room I can see that unlucky piece of cloth, 
and I want to get to it so, and to learn on it instead of 
on the little loom, to prove to myself that I don’t believe 
it; and yet you make me feel afraid to do it, and I hate to 
be really afraid, Phoebe, of just a piece of cloth that I know 
hasn’t any real power to make me die.” 

Phoebe looked down upon the serious face, grave where 
it should be gay. “ You’re too young to bother your head 
about such troubles,” said she, “that old room has made 
you spooky about everything else. What you need is young 
folks and sunshine. If I stuff my ears up with cotton 
wool I’ll maybe be able to sit it out in the wing rooms 
longer myself, so you’ll have more chance outside. I must 
hurry on now, but if I were you I’d chase the goslings and 
the calves around a while till you feel you haven’t a care in 
the world. The goose-trough is empty, I see; the dry spell 
has stopped the overflow, so you can drive the flock up to 
the barnyard for a drink. 

“I hear they had a great flock down at the Island, but 
most of them died in the pasture last week for lack of 
water. Their well has about gone dry over there, but 
Lisbeth is getting on fine, and can walk about the garden 
now, Nat says.” With which Phoebe crossed the stile and 
disappeared down the road. “If she can’t take a hint as 
broad as that was, then she’s duller than I judge her to be,” 
said she. 

Joan “took” it, all right. Lisbeth better, and out in the 
garden with all those dear, sweet smelling flowers. And in the 
doorway probably would be Aunt Orin or Uncle Amsey! 
It was too much to resist, and throwing dull care to the 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 


345 


winds as Phoebe, good Phoebe had suggested, she hurried 
on to the Island road; for if she made fleet her feet she 
could be in that dear place half an hour or more and still 
be back at Halfway before Uncle Garret would have been 
expecting her from the Office. 

It was Lisbeth who saw her first, Lisbeth whose reclining 
chair was each day lifted outside the house that she might 
have full flow of air and sunshine to aid the healing of 
her knee. That she would now he permanently cured the 
physicians had not promised, for the long neglect of what 
had been at first hut a strain and bruise had caused graver 
complications, hut if she could make a speedy recovery from 
this minor operation and treatment, another and a more 
thorough one would in all probability make an effectual 
cure. 

She looked a blossom herself, within the sweet glowing 
garden, and Joan fell back from her after the first ardent 
hug, looking her over — soft white frock, dainty stockings 
and shoes, and around her waist a rich coloured ribbon, the 
same bright hue in bows upon her dark braids. 

“O, you are a darling,” said Joan with another vigorous 
embrace, “and you’ve got it, haven’t you, the sash, you 
know, that you wanted more than you wanted anything 
else you could think of.” 

The girl smoothed down the gay silk. “0, yes! and 
I’ve got so much else besides, that like you I’m almost 
afraid to go to sleep nights for fear I’ll wake up and 
find it all blown away. I didn’t really think I ought 
to wear this, yet, with Jane gone such a little while ago, you 
know; but Miss Orin says Jane would he glad if she knew 
I had it to wear, and that I can show my mourning by 
being what Jane wanted me to me, and doing things for 
other people like she did for me ; but I don’t think I could 
ever pay back in all my life what I’ve had done for me. 
Joan, the only thing I didn’t have, and the only thing I 
seemed to want even more than the sash was you. If you 


346 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


only could have come a little while every day, while my 
knee hurt so at first.” 

“I know, it was what I wanted, too,” said Joan, snug- 
gling down on the chair beside her, “and I believe I would 
have run away and come, no matter what would happen 
for it, only for Aunt Orin. She is so splendid, and dear, 
and her eyes look you straight through, don’t they? She 
said it would he best to obey Uncle Garret, and that it 
would work out all right, someway, if we did what was 
right ourselves. But I’m a runaway to-day, Lisbeth, though 
of course I’ll tell him when I go hack. I was so lonesome 
for you all that I just had to come, and I’ve only got the 
wee-est time to stay, so where is Aunt Orin, for I want to 
see her so; and Uncle Amsey, the old dear, is he in the 
house?” 

“He’s away, Joan, trying to get some men to dig a 
well for us, hack in the pasture. They have been trying 
and trying at the old one and can’t reach water; and, Joan, 
everything on the place is suffering, for we only have what 
we can get hauled all the long way round, though of course 
every day we keep expecting we’ll strike the water next 
day. Mr. Wisdom says the well was a spring, once, and 
that it goes off, queer, sometimes, and then comes hack 
again; hut this summer there hasn’t been hardly a hit of 
rain, so the ground is dry clear down to China, I guess. 
Is your spring all right?” 

Joan only nodded in reply, sore and troubled in heart to 
hear what Lisbeth had told her. Up at Halfway to have 
all the water they wanted, and down here to he suffering 
for it, was hard to think of. “What do you drink?” she 
asked. “It wouldn’t taste good, the kind you hauled. We 
had that at the School, till we laid the pipes and brought 
it straight from a lovely, cool-running brook. Lisbeth, 
if I could only have some sent down from our lovely 
spring!” 

“We boil the kind we haul, and cool it in the dairy,” said 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATEK 


347 


Lisbeth, “and I shouldn’t have told you about it at all, for 
your Aunt Orin wouldn’t complain, herself. She says it’s 
a poor kind of spirit in folks that makes them complain, 
and that the talking over it keeps you from trying to make 
things better. But, O, wouldn’t I like a drink out of your 
spring ; and to think of all the water that used to run away 
in our river while Jane and I washed! That wasn’t good 
and cool, though, like yours is. Even the one drink I had 
of it that day at Halfway was enough to make me think 
there couldn’t be any other taste so cold and lovely.” 

A phrase of what Alexander had said at the party, 
while he mixed the tamarind drink, came to Joan’s mind 
as Lisbeth talked — that the Halfway spring had fed the 
two houses once, stock and all. Could it have been the 
Island, she wondered. And straight beside that phrase, put 
away in her methodical little mind, was a remembrance of 
the day at the spring when Lisheth had noticed the two 
round places in the masonry of its walls. And another, 
on Phoebe’s first day at Halfway when she had said some- 
thing to Uncle Garret about “cutting off the Island supply 
for fear his spring would go dry.” Joan’s mind began to 
turn them over, all three, even while she talked, still think- 
ing, behind her speech. 

“If Pelig wasn’t gone, he could bring it down every day 
for you, to use for drinking and he would keep the little 
bridge built up, too, though there’s not much water now 
left in the creek to tumble into even if you did fall,” said 
she. “I wouldn’t dare ask Hiram to do it; he is different 
from Pelig, you know, but, 0, I can’t bear to think you 
don’t have all the water you want, when the overflow from 
our trough runs off to waste. Did the geese truly die, Lis- 
beth, because they couldn’t get any? Phoebe heard they 
did.” 

“We suppose it was that, for there hasn’t been a drop 
in the pasture brook for days and days, and nobody to 
carry it to them even if we had it to spare, for Mr. Wisdom 


348 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and the boy have all they can do to look after the stock, and 
Fm no good now. I ought to be well at a time like this and 
able to be helping them out, for all they’re doing for me.” 

“There’s Aunt Orin now!” cried Joan, and flew into 
the house to meet her upon the broad stairs that fronted 
the entrance. They sat down together, just within the door- 
way, Joan waving a hand now and then to Lisbeth, for, 
though the girl heart of her longed to be out there with 
her, the child heart craved and needed the woman’s love 
and counsel. 

They spoke of Aunt Hetty, of Phoebe and of Halfway 
under her sway, of the great-uncle left alone upon Life’s 
highway, of Lisbeth and her progress toward health, even 
of Uncle Amsey away upon his errand, but never a word 
from Orin Wisdom’s lips about their sore distress for water; 
and Joan, remembering what Lisbeth had told her, observed 
it, and loved the poise of it. “It’s Aunt Orin’s ‘way,’ all 
right. I can see that,” she thought, “and I hope it’s a 
family way.” And so, reaching up toward it, herself, she 
made no complaint of her loneliness up at Halfway, but 
told of Uncle Garret getting out for dinners and suppers; 
of the files of papers and pamphlets she was making for 
him; talked of Pelig and his chance to get some schooling, 
and his start in the world; and had only got half through 
all the lovely story of what was in the loom-room when the 
clock from the hall chiming out the hour told her all too 
plainly that her time was soon up. 

The story of the loom-room had interested Aunt Orin, 
Joan could easily see that. They had joined Lisbeth in the 
garden before she began the telling, that Lisbeth, too, might 
hear; but though Aunt Orin asked her many a question 
about the contents of the old chamber, she asked never a 
word about the unlucky piece of cloth that had brought 
such sad misfortune upon those who sought to weave it 
out. And though it and its fateful influence, and the 
thirst with its dread curse were the two things Joan most 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 


349 


wanted to talk over, something seemed to keep her from 
utterance concerning them. Nor did she tell of how hardly 
she had won the key of the room. When the clock sounded 
the hour it seemed to her she could not tear herself away. 

“But I must, and Pll have to run all the road back,” she 
said, “for I never should have stayed so long, and I never 
should have come at all, perhaps, to leave Uncle Garret 
alone.” 

“Then you may go hack the short cut,” said Aunt Orin, 
“and I will walk part of it with you,” for she saw 
the concern upon Joan’s face, and had easily noticed the 
pent anxiety beneath all her words. 

“Why, I thought the other road was a long one, away 
around by the mines, and that the Island road was the 
shortest,” exclaimed Joan. 

“It is, for the public, hut there is still a shorter route, 
and if you will get me my stick and cape from off the 
rack you shall be shown it to-day, since you are late. Lis- 
beth will not mind a little stay alone.” 

“0, you darling girl, good-bye,” said Joan in farewell 
low, to Lisbeth upon her chair. “If anybody gets sick 
or things get worse, you’ll let me know, won’t you? I’m 
just ashamed to have all the water we do, and you here to 
have almost none.” 

“It is an old family by-way, that we are taking,” said Orin 
Wisdom, “the path that we young folks trod through many 
a year when Halfway and the Island were good friends. 
It would have been grown up long ere this but for the Tan- 
nery’s men, who often cut through part of it to shorten 
their walk, though they turn off, Amsey says, before they 
strike in sight of Halfway. I’ll go with you to the little 
hackmatack wood, and you can then find your way on alone, 
for it is hut a few yards through. We just bisect the triangle 
that you have to walk the two long sides of to come by the 
Island Road.” 


350 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


"Was that what Uncle Amsey called the 'short cut’ that 
day Lisheth and I went to see you?” 

Aunt Orin smiled down upon the bright resolute face. 
"You have sharp ears, Joan, and eyes also, and a re- 
tentive mind; perhaps also the burden of what you see 
and hear upon your mind and heart. Was it being lonely 
made you come to-day, or were you a rebel and a runaway 
just from sport, or was anything real troubling you, dear- 
est?” 

Joan slipped a hand in Orin Wisdom’s. "I guess it was 
all three,” she said, "and I was going to tell you all about 
the troubles and have you help me out, you know, but I 
don’t believe I will, now, for you would rather I’d fight it 
out, wouldn’t you?” 

"If you think you are able, Joan dear.” 

"I’m not truly sure I am, Aunt Orin, hut you never told 
me one word about the thing that is bothering you all down 
there, and I’d like to keep my own troubles to myself, too.” 

"Brave little Joan,” said Orin Wisdom. "But you are 
young, dearest, and if I can help you when you come to a 
'truly’ tight place, that is what I am for. Bemember that a 
light heart tides you over many a billow where a heavy one 
would sink you; so keep merry and steady, Joan, and things 
will shake out right.” 

"I’m just going to ask you one thing, Aunt Orin. Did the 
water from our spring ever come down to the Island ?” 

It was a fair question, and Joan’s blue Wisdom eyes 
looked straight into Orin’s as blue. There was no evading 
it, though the woman paused a moment before her answer, 
weighing the possibilities for the eager brain and heart that 
asked it. 

They were just crossing the strip of land that bordered 
the little wood, and before them stretched what seemed a 
welt upon the surface of the field, an o’er grown scar upon 
the soft hum m ocky turf, and within the grove it still led on, 
scarce perceptible unless you knew its existence and pur- 


AN ISLAND LACKING WATER 351 

pose, but plain to eyes that bad followed its course in tbe 
years long gone. 

Orin Wisdom struck her stick along the green course. 
“Yes, Joan,” she said. “It came from Halfway spring to 
us, along this way. Do you see the slight rise of ground 
above the old conduit? They surveyed the shortest possible 
line, and the water never failed in flow, coming out into 
the old stone basin in the brick-paved yard, and overflowing 
by pipes again to the cattle trough.” 

“But why doesn’t it come now, Aunt Orin?” 

“It was cut off, dearest, when Halfway was opened up, 
and we’ll talk no more about it now. We have a well, since 
then, for our supply.” 

“But your well is dry, Aunt Orin l” 

“We are digging another,” said she brightly, “and now 
here we are at the wood. And I must leave you. Long 
years it has been since my feet have strayed even this far 
on the old path. Follow the welt straight on, and you will 
be at the spring before you know it, and up at Halfway. I 
am glad you came; it has done us all good, though I’m 
sorry Brother Amsey was away. He craves to have you 
with us and often makes big threats to go up and steal you ! 
Even Lisbeth, much as we have grown to love her, can 
not take the place in our hearts of Phil’s dear grandchild. 
And if you are steady and true, I think you’ll see all the 
old troubles over, some day. How dry the ground is, the 
very twigs crackle under our feet. I never remember but 
once before such a long dry spell. Good-bye, my pet.” 

Joan bestowed upon Aunt Orin one of her pent-up vigor- 
ous embraces. “You’re so fine and lovely!” she said. “I 
just wish I was Lisbeth, to he there with you every day, but 
I’m not, and I’ve got to put up with it, I suppose ! IJncle 
Garret is handsome, like you are, but he is not ‘lovely and 
fine,’ and I don’t believe he’ll ever want me to love him.” 

“Don’t he too sure of that Love is hidden away in the 
deepest prison house, and will batter down the bars in time,” 


352 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

said Orin Wisdom, kissing both Joan’s dark cheeks in fare- 
well. 

“She is just like a beautiful Queen/’ thought Joan as she 
wended her way on alone. “And never to tell me that the 
well was dry, and the cattle sick, or anything that was 
wrong ! It’s just like Phoebe said she was, full of strength 
and pride. But I never asked her if she and Uncle Amsey 
had the Thirst,’ or if she believed in the ‘curse,’ or in that 
unlucky piece of cloth, so I’m no better off that I was 
before, except that I’ve seen her and Lisbeth again, and 
been in the darling old house and garden.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE UNFINISHED WEB OF CLOTH 

C LOSELY J oan followed the old swale. Here and there 
a young tree had grown from out it, a dead one fallen 
across it; in what seemed a hit of hog, though now in this 
dry season showing no moisture, the seam scarcely rose from 
the surface; but on a higher swale of ground, for a short 
space the place was grassy and almost green, while out 
in the field they had come through the vegetation had been 
withered, the grass stalks dry and faded. 

She paused for a moment or two upon the small verdured 
plot, the hackmatack shade thick above it, refreshing and 
cool after the hurried walk through the drought-parched way. 
A strange torrid wave of heat had descended upon the land, 
the air almost empty of stir, an unusual temperature for so 
late a summer day, and she felt its pressure, driven on by 
its hot breath to the spring that she might slake the thirst 
it gave her. 

But soon as she lifted to her lips her cupped hands from 
out its crystal depths, came the thought of the dearth at 
the Island, of Lisbeth craving it, of Aunt Orin drinking 
it boiled and tasteless from out a cask, and Uncle Amsey 
with the Thirst’ upon him, perhaps, for he was a Wisdom 
man, without fresh supply to quench it as had Uncle Garret. 
“I’ll not drink any more myself, either,” said she, letting 
spill the contents from her small hands, for with Joan to 
think was to act. “We’ve no right to have all we want, and 
plenty of it going to waste besides, while they haven’t enough 
for themselves or to keep their creatures alive,” and all the 
way up the path, and while she paused as always, to strip 

353 


354 


JOAH AT HALFWAY 


through, her fingers the cool strands of ribbon-grass, she 
turned over in her ready mind the problem of how to get 
it to them, hut without a solving, forgetting altogether till 
reaching the very doorway that she was late and that there 
might be trouble brewing for her within the wing room. 

But her luck was with her, for Phoebe had arrived be- 
forehand, driven back by Captain Hat, who was to stay for 
supper at Halfway and was already in the wing room talk- 
ing with his host. He had brought a basket of red apples 
from the Hill Farm for Joan; and a bottle of beautiful 
orient seeds to be made into strings of gay-coloured beads, 
a most unusual offering from the sad-faced Hannah, who like 
all the other kindred had fallen under the sway of Joan’s 
dear, winsome charm. 

“For it’s not so much what she has to say, but the manner 
in which she says it that conquers us all,” Alexander had 
explained to the Schoolmaster, who, laid aside by sickness, 
had not yet seen her. “She kind of takes us all in as her 
folks, soon as she knows who we are, and meets us all 
halfway, as if we were young or she was old and we were 
all going along together ; eager to know about all the different 
ways we get our living; and scraps of knowledge here and 
there that I don’t know how ever she picked up, being 
a girl and an orphan. Pretty as a picture, too, and shy 
enough for grace, but so friendly, so friendly and whole- 
some! Garret is blind as a bat if he doesn’t see what a 
treasure he’s got in her.” 

j Even Captain Hat, aggressive and nettlesome as he often 
was with Garret Wisdom, proved a welcome visitor after 
the long afternoon alone, and as they were talking together 
with most unusual amity, Joan slipped off upstairs while 
Phoebe was making ready the tea. Red apples to eat, and gay 
beads to be strung, with Captain Hat’s jolly banter to meet 
and answer, lifted for a moment the cloud of concern from her 
heart ; but entering her bedroom she could see straight through 
to the loom-room, where right before her eyes was that big old 


THE UNFINISHED WEB OF CLOTH 355 

dark shape with its ill-starred web stretched up upon it. 
It shadowed the gay spirit with which she had ascended the 
stair. Always would it meet her gaze as she entered the 
place, and forever would it spoil her joy of the room with all 
its other treasures ! Suddenly one of those quick thoughts, with 
as quick decisions, came to her, and, snatching a pair of 
scissors from off her stand, she crossed the threshold of the 
old chamber, and, reaching up to the strands that stretched 
down from the yam beam, cut them across, bright-hued, 
and sober woof, severed them again above the woven 
threads, turning over and over the cloth beam till the fabric 
fell to the floor below and loosed from off its loom spread 
its fateful folds out to the westering sun. 

“You’re just a beautiful thing to look at,” said she, “and 
I love you because you were set up so long ago, and I am 
sorry you couldn’t ever get finished off ! But you must have 
got a wrong start, somehow, and there wasn’t anything else 
to do but cut you down, so there! And that’s one of my 
troubles gone already.” 

Shaking it out, she folded it smoothly again, starting to 
take it away to the hall, when she noticed a paper upon the 
floor, that must have fallen from out it. It looked like a 
document, and wondering what was its contents, she unfolded 
the sheet and read the opening words upon the page, written 
in cramped and wavering hand. 

“In the name of God, Amen! I, Uriah Wisdom, of Half- 
way ” 

Joan paused, and thought, for a moment. Uriah Wisdom 
had been the name of Uncle Garret’s father, the name upon 
the old slate tombstone. This document was something he 
had written, and though the room had been given to her for 
her own “with all that was within it,” this paper was not 
hers, but belonged to whoever owned Halfway. So, folding 
it together again, she lay it upon her table and went on with 
her work upon the loom. 

In the eaves-closet were the cloths that she brushed the 


356 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


dust from off the hooks, and with these she wiped the old 
frame bright and clean, seeing its possibilities for paper 
rack and bookstand once it should he polished like the small 
one, humming a little gay song as she worked, the troubling 
shadow of dread lifted from sight and thought, her joy in 
the possession of the place now complete. 

“So I’ve killed off that one old Wisdom spook,” said she 
to Phoebe as she finished a hurried recital of her doings 
while they put the supper upon the table, “but don’t say 
a word about it, for I’ll have to tell Uncle Garret myself, 
I suppose.” 

“And I don’t wish myself in your shoes for the telling, hut 
you can’t expect easy sailing if you’re going to bump up 
against all the family notions and traditions, though I like 
your pluck in getting rid of this one, for I’ll confess it 
bothered me more than a little. How you ever thought of 
such a slick way out of it all I don’t see. That’s the Island 
strain in you. Halfway streak fumes and frets and cher- 
ishes a wrong or a trouble, but the Island folk cut them- 
selves loose from such things. There’s your living instance 
in Garret himself, sitting there wrapped up in his ailments 
and nursing the old wrong that separated the two houses so 
long ago, while Orin and Amsey have led happy lives and 
thrown off the shadow of it, though longing for peace and 
friendly ways again under all they do. I’m the Halfway 
stem myself and, of course, prefer it to the other ; but you’ve 
them both, and I should call it as good a combination as 
you could ask for. I’ll polish the loom down for you in 
the morning and we’ll trim it up with a gay curtain or 
two so it won’t know itself.” 

“It was only that special piece of cloth that the trouble 
was about, wasn’t it, Phoebe ? Not the loom, too !” 

“Certain sure it could never have been the machine itself, 
for the Wisdoms wove their cloths upon it in all the years 
before that one unlucky web was set up. We’ll let Louisa 
have the cloth, to give to that society in town she calls “Arts 


THE UNFINISHED WEB OE CLOTH 357 


and Crafts.” It will make a great show-piece for them, and 
mum’s the word about the bad luck ; Louisa would never tell 
them. Here come Nat and Garret for supper, so you’ll have 
to finish up your story another time.” 

After the meal was through and cleared away, and Phoebe 
had driven off with Captain Nat, getting a lift to the Corner to 
see how a sick woman was progressing, Joan made her way 
to the wing rooms. 

“Uncle Garret,” she said, standing back against the door, 
her hands behind her. “I’ve got three things to say.” 

The old Uncle looked up at her with a friendly glance. 
“I like your definite statements, Jo-ann,” said he. “Most 
people make exaggerated utterances, and many a girl in your 
place would have said she had dots of things to say.’ ” 

Praise and approbation from Uncle Garret! Joan’s face 
glowed warm in the pleasure and surprise of it, and almost 
she wished she might postpone her telling, to bask instead 
in the unusual attitude of the mood. But her stories must 
be told. 

“You will, of course, begin at the first,” remarked Uncle 
Garret. 

So Joan made her plunge. “I was down at the Island 
to-day.” 

“Had you forgotten that you were forbidden to go there ?” 
asked he, surprise in his voice that she had dared disobey 
him, and at the frank and bold confession of it as well. 

“No, but I wanted so to go,” she said. “I was both- 
ered about some things, and so lonesome, and Phoebe said 
she would get the mail, so I just ran away, quick, before 
I really thought much about you forbidding it, for I wanted 
to see them all. And, Uncle Garret, I can’t keep on staying 
away. I think I’ll have to be allowed to go. Aunt Orin is 
beautiful, and Uncle Amsey is such a dear, and Lisbeth is 
the only girl I know, and she is sick and lame and can’t 
get up here, so I’ll just have to go there to see her, some- 
times.” 


358 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


He rapped stormily with his stick upon the floor. “A work- 
house waif! She would not be coming to Halfway even 
were she able, Jo-ann, and I wonder at your choice of her 
for a friend, but I wonder more, Jo-ann, at your wilful dis- 
obedience of my expressed wish.” 

“O, but she’s not a work-house girl any longer, Uncle 
Garret, and she’s not even Jane’s girl. She belongs to the 
Island now, and she’s not their help either. They love her 
so, and she has pretty dresses, and her lame knee is going 
to be cured, and Aunt Orin is teaching her things.” 

“None of which remove the fact that she is only a poor 
waif by birth and not necessarily improved in manners or 
mind by her new surroundings,” said he curtly. 

“Well, I wasn’t so very much better. I hadn’t nice things 
to wear till I came to you, Uncle Garret, and I had to take 
care of babies, and work for people where I stayed!” cham- 
pioned Joan stoutly, though her heart thumped with every 
word. 

“You were yourself, Jo-ann, a Wisdom. You are for- 
getting that.” 

“I don’t think I ever will want to forget that, because 
I’m getting to love to be one of them,” said she, the wistful 
tone in her voice, the deep look in her Wisdom eyes. “But I 
can’t see why Lisbeth couldn’t be nice even if she doesn’t be- 
long to us. And I wish you would not really forbid me going, 
for Aunt Orin and Uncle Amsey are my own relations, just 
like you are, and why can’t we all be friends and have such 
good times at each other’s houses, Uncle Garret?” 

“Stop!” said he, “you are entirely without your bounds 
in presuming to even speak of such things to me, let alone the 
advising. My ban is not altered in the least. Whenever you 
visit the Island you do so expressly against my wish, and if 
you choose, Jo-ann, to take advantage of my crippled condi- 
tion to have your own will, you must expect to receive my dis- 
pleasure. We will not discuss it further, you understand, 
but you are in my house, under my authority, and sup- 


THE UNFINISHED WEB OF CLOTH 359 


ported by my purse. We will now proceed to the second 
of tbe three things you came to speak of.” 

Her feet would fain have turned and fled after those 
cutting words and the flat denial of her petitions, hut the 
heart of her, even though troubled, stood resolute, and she 
met fair his glance while she spoke. 

“It was about that — unlucky piece of cloth on the big 
loom, Uncle Garret.” 

“You were told to bring no tales to me for the room. 
Since it was your great desire to have the place, you must 
accept what goes with it, luck or ill luck, also the command 
that you speak not of it at all ; you understand.” 

“I know you told me that, and I kept from asking you 
about it to-day, when you were talking about the other 
things. I had' wanted so to find out if you really thought it 
could make any one die; but when you would not tell me 
whether you believed in the ‘thirst/ or the ‘curse’ that made 
that, why then I didn’t like to ask you anything else.” 

“And so went to the Island with your tales, I presume, 
to hear what Orin Wisdom had to say about them?” 

“She never said a word. I’ve been there three times 
now, but she has never asked me anything about Halfway 
affairs, and I don’t tell her Halfway tales, either! I was 
going to speak to her about the cloth, b6cause it did trouble 
me so, and spoiled all my pleasure in having the room. Why 
Phoebe wouldn’t even touch it! and she said you told her 
not to let me learn my weaving on that piece.” 

Sharp went the stick again upon the floor, and as sharp 
his voice. “Never quote Phoebe to me. And if you got 
your explanation of it from Orin Wisdom, why come to me 
now with the matter?” 

“But I didn’t ask her, after all, for she had things to be 
troubled over, herself. They haven’t any water. Their 
well has gone dry and the cattle are sick. Lisbeth told me 
about it. It’s dreadful, when we have all we want ” 

“Keep to your story!” 


360 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“I am, I’m coming to it now, Uncle Garret. Because she 
didn’t complain about things, I thought I would try to 
forget about what bothered me, hut when I went up in my 
room, there was the loom right before my eyes, and every- 
thing came back, and I knew it would always make me feel 
the very same way every time I saw it. And then, just as 
sudden, I thought of the loveliest plan to make it all right — 
I cut the whole piece of cloth right straight out, Uncle Garret, 
and now it’s all done with forever, and 0, I’m so glad !” 

He looked at her in astonishment. She was growing 
apace, approaching him now with one and again with others 
of what had been evaded and forbidden topics in Halfway 
circles, meeting them so clearly, and seeking to loose the 
tangled threads instead of being caught in their fateful 
mesh. Yet how could a girl of her age reach such a de- 
cision as this, herself? — so strange and yet such a simple 
and effectual solution of the thing. While he waited to 
decide whether to chide or praise, he parried with her. 

“And who now is to have the cloth and its ill-luck,” asked 
he. “Have you also settled that ?” 

Joan brightened. “We are going to give it to a Society 
in town, that is starting up weaving. Phoebe says it can’t 
do much harm divided around in a whole crowd like that,” 
said she, the little crooked smile upon her lips, and the 
match for it in the blueness of her eyes that faced him fair. 

“Safety in numbers!” remarked the old Uncle grimly, 
hut half capitulating to the smile, the rebel instinct in his 
own heart rising to meet the daring of this young one that 
had essayed so hold an onslaught upon Halfway’s ghosts 
and spells. 

“I’ll get the piece down now, if you want to see it,” ex- 
claimed she, catching the change of his attitude, and eager 
for peace and good comradeship. “You won’t mind if I give it 
away, will you ? Cousin Louisa will take it to them. It is so 
pretty, too, and I half hate to let anybody have it, such 
bright colours in the stripes ” 


THE UNFINISHED WEB OF CLOTH 361 


But he stayed her words. “Jo-ann, you are flagrantly 
breaking the bargain I expected you to keep when I gave over 
to you the room. I think you did a very wise thing, doubt- 
less, in getting clear of the cloth altogether and thus ending 
your own fears concerning it, but I do not wish, myself, to 
pursue the subject further, nor to have you mention the place 
again to me. So we will now proceed with your third and last 
item, after which you may go, for I have letters to write. 
The third was, what, Jo-ann? I trust not a troublesome 
thing, as were the others.” 

“Well, I’ll have to break the orders again to tell it to you,” 
said she, drawing her hand from behind her and going 
across to his chair with the old folded document she had 
discovered within the fateful cloth. “This must have been 
hidden away in the folds, for I found it when I unwound 
the piece; and I didn’t think it would belong to me, Uncle 
Garret.” 

“It has no probable value for me. We will not break the 
compact. What was in the place was to be yours outright, 
you recall.” 

“But I’m sure this would be yours, "Uncle Garret, for it 
begins with the name Uriah Wisdom, and Cousin Alexander 
said that was your father’s name.” 

Garret Wisdom reached out suddenly for the paper, un- 
folded it partly, and read those first words, as had J oan. 

“In the name of God , Amen . I, Uriah Wisdom ” 

turned open the sheet to the lower fold, and saw signed the 
same name, and beneath it two other signatures. 

He looked up quick at Joan. “Have you read it?” 

“You know I wouldn’t, and you haven’t any right to ask 
me!” said she, her head held high. “I haven’t even told 
any one I found it, for I knew it wouldn’t be mine — and 
I wish you wouldn’t say things like that to me, Uncle Garret, 
when we’ve only got each other.” 

It was Uncle Garret’s turn to be stung. The words stirred 
him through, her fearless meeting of his accusation, and 


362 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


the honour of her ways, so childish in impulse and yet so 
mature. “I forgot myself, J o-ann,” said he, finely, to match 
her own attitude. “I trust I may not do so again, and that 
we shall get on better together, since we have only ‘each 
other/ I will not need you now, and you may have a run 
in the garden a while, or go down the road to meet Phoebe 
on her return. Good-night, Jo-ann,” and he bent eagerly 
to the paper he was already spreading out before him. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HERITAGE 

W E are going picking elderberries tbis forenoon,” an- 
nounced Phoebe when the morning duties were 
through. “I came by that way last night and the clump 
was black with the huge clusters of them, over-ripe, too, for 
the hot dry spell has brought them on early.” 

“What do you make out of them, Phoebe? I came by 
there, too, last week, and I didn’t like the smell of them, 
nor when they were in blossom, but the berries are pretty 
now, all purple and red.” 

“We make elderberry cordial, a bottle apiece for every 
family of the relations around about. It used to be the old 
custom always, at Halfway, and when Garret came back 
he got Hetty to start it up again, for the elder-clump had 
spread over half an acre and there was fruit and to spare. 
It’s a thick syrupy stuff, and with water added makes a 
fine drink for sickness. He likes it himself, and the Wis- 
doms need all the harmless beverages they can get hold of 
since they’ve got to drink down some sort of liquid most 
of the time. Did you get up a fresh pail for him this 
morning ? He had none in his jug as I came through.” 

“O, yes, of course I did,” said Joan, “but he did not 
want it filled then, and said you would do it !” 

“Well, the millennium must be dawning after all, for he 
never asked me. But I wouldn’t wonder if he could get it 
himself. He walked from his chair to the window last 
night, tolerably steady, too ; I could hardly believe my eyes 
when I saw him start off. That’s one good thing the dry 
weather has done, eased up his rheumatism or sciatica or 

363 


364 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


whatever he thinks it is that stiffens him so by spells. 
Getting in and out to meals helps limber him up, too, 
and we may see him stalking round Halfway by winter; 
he shook it off for about six months once, and was spry as 
a kitten, then it clamped down on him again. But he’s 
mum as a baby this morning, and grey looking, but wanted 
neither of us around.” 

“Then, would it be all right for us both to be away?” 
asked Joan. “He’s not sitting in a draught, is he, Phoebe?” 

“Draught!” sniffed she in scornful repetition of the word. 
“I’m fair sick of the sound of it. If he eschewed his bad 
temper with one-half the energy he uses up trying to keep 
clear of what he calls a draught but is mostly only a breath 
of fresh air, he’d have outmeeked Moses long ago! You’ll 
baby him by watching out so for him, and be an old woman 
yourself before your time if you don’t look out close, carry- 
ing more than your own real share of life’s burdens. He 
knows Amanda is in the back regions scrubbing up, and 
within call if he makes a loud enough noise. She drained 
off the last of the tank water this morning, so we’ll have to 
depend on the pipes for all we use from now on. I wish 
it would rain, the dust of the dry things gets into my nose 
and throat. There was not even a drop of dew last night 
as I came home, and forest fires are starting up all around. 
Nat says a whole lumber camp burned out yesterday, down 
river, houses and all.” 

“Captain Nat is great, and knows such funny stories. It’s 
too bad you couldn’t have been married to him all this time,” 
ventured Joan. 

Phoebe tossed her head. “Marriage is not the chief end 
of life ! I’ve had my hands full enough with the mess other 
people have made on account of it, and so don’t overly hanker 
after the state myself.” 

“But there are such a lot of the family, Phoebe, who 
haven’t — both of you, and Hannah, and Aunt Orin, and 
Uncle Amsey, too. Aunt Hetty was married three times.” 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HEKITAGE 365 


“And no higher seat in Heaven on that account! I’ve 
always thought that a woman who has borne and brought 
up a family of children ought to be let straight inside and 
no questions asked, but there’s no special dispensation 
granted for mere wives far as I know, though they might 
get a chance in on the martyr count. But the Holy Writ 
gives us an idea of the estimation marrying is held in up 
there when it says there won’t be any more of it going on — 
like ‘night’ and ‘weeping’ and the other bugaboos of earth. 

“Hat and I haven’t gone about pining, nor spoiling our 
lives, simply because we couldn’t get joined up. There’s plen- 
ty to do in this world even if you can’t carry out your own par- 
ticular stunt, and I don’t know what the countryside would 
have done without me all these years if I had been mate with 
Captain Nat, my hands full with him and ‘Hill Farm’ af- 
fairs. Now, get your hat, and here’s your basket, and I’m 
for away if we want to get to the clump and back before 
dinner.” 

So it came to pass that Garret Wisdom was alone at 
Halfway. He was sitting before his desk, writing, his lame 
leg resting upon the low splint chair, and evidently giving 
him pain, for every now and then a deep groan sounded 
throughout the still room. Several times he tossed back 
the pen into the recess of the pigeon-holes, and leaned for- 
ward, with effort, to ease the spasm, taking it up again 
and continuing the writing, only to make another sudden 
pause at return of the twinges. Once he reached down to a 
lower drawer and drew from out it the document Joan had 
brought him, spreading it out before him that he might 
read it through, but got no farther than those words of the 
opening line: 

“In the name of God , Amen ” when he shoved it back 
again to its envelope, with a shadow upon his face. He 
knew its contents, though eye did not see the page. Over 
and over he had read it during the long night past, its words 
burned upon his memory. 


366 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


The pain returned, sharp, like needles through his flesh, 
then eased away, but left him feeling weak. Twice he tapped 
loudly with his stick upon the floor; he would have Joan 
come to him and they would complete the file of old “Nova 
Scotians,” thus relieving his strain of mind, and diverting 
him should the pain return. 

No one answered. Then he remembered that both Joan 
and Phoebe were absent from the house, and just when 
he essayed to take up his writing again there came the sound 
of an approach up the lane, footfalls across the verandah, 
and a halting pause at the outer door. 

He wheeled in his chair to face the incomer, waiting 
for the entrance knock. But no knock sounded, the door 
opened, instead, and Amsey Wisdom stood upon the threshold. 

“Good day, Garret,” said he. 

Garret Wisdom’s face turned hard and frowning. “My 
house is my castle till I open the door of it,” said he. 

“Maybe, for strangers, but Halfway is open to Wisdoms, 
I reckon, long as it has a door to swing in or out — if they 
choose to come,” said the intruder in cool and easy voice. 

“You presume upon the relationship.” 

“I’m here for business alone,” said Amsey Wisdom. 

“What business have we in common !” 

“Quite a lump of it, you’ll see, after I’ve set it forth, 
and as we never beat about the bush I’ll to horse at once. 
The girl the Skipper gave over to us is a daughter of your 
gipsy-sister you sent back to the tribe.” 

“That’s not so,” said the Master of Halfway. “She mar- 
ried, and died, without children. I had it from themselves; 
old Jem knew the facts and I was in communication with 
him until his death,” but behind his words was pressing 
Lisbeth’s face as she had stood in that very doorway, look- 
ing into his own with the soft, calm gaze that had stirred 
some poignant memory within him, so strong that he had 
even commissioned Hetty to look up the parish that had 
given her the work-house shelter of her childhood. Hetty 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HERITAGE 367 


had written him hack that no one whom she asked could 
put her upon any clue of the child, except that she had a 
foreigner for a father and that after his wife’s death he 
had left the baby girl behind and returned to his own 
country, nobody remembering the mother herself, since they 
had only tarried in the parish for the birth. 

So thoroughly had this settled the doubt of the vain imag- 
ining that he had given it no further thought; the events 
that followed Hetty’s homecoming in quick succession, com- 
pletely effacing it from his mind, until the evening before 
when Joan had pleaded for the girl’s company at Halfway, 
and had given him the document found within the old loom. 

“It’s a lie, that somebody has trumped up to get money 
from me,” said he. 

“Thought you’d say that,” replied the other, still easy 
voiced and calm, “and knew you wouldn’t take anybody’s 
word without it was backed up by proof. So just to show 
you I’m not dreaming it, here’s a copy of her marriage, 
and here’s one of her child’s birth, from the parish 
register, as well as an affidavit from the old doctor who 
attended her and took down some statements from her 
before her death. You being away at the time, and Halfway 
shut up, I guess it didn’t seem worth while to him to do 
anything about it; then he moved away himself to another 
county, and it was a wonder we ever got onto where we 
could find him ” 

“Say what you have to say and get done with it; don’t 
prolong it,” interrupted Garret Wisdom. 

“I’ll make it long or short, as I blame please, and I’ll not 
leave till my story is through. To begin at the beginning, 
I suppose you didn’t know, any more than the rest of us 
did, that Jane, the Skipper, was a gipsy herself, a younger 
sister of the one your father married. Ho love lost be- 
tween you and her, I’ve heard, about that cabin of hers 
you wanted to buy from her — well, that was the reason 
why you couldn’t buy her out. She cherished a feeling 


368 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

against you for the sister’s child you sent adrift — see it all 
now, don’t you ?” 

He saw it, like a flash of light — the dark face, the high 
cheek bones, the low brow, the surly, resentful manner that 
had animated her in their several discussions when he had 
proffered her a price for her bit of land and house; so plain 
he saw it, that he did not in any way doubt it, but did not say 
so; and the other continued: 

“She had notions of her own, and kept her own counsel, 
and I don’t know that anybody beside ourselves and Alex- 
ander has any idea even yet who she was. Queer how that 
child should drift hack to her, it’s gipsy luck — over the 
world and hack to their own again always, they say — 
nothing can keep them apart. And here’s that little one 
you sent off to the gang, coming to her rights again, in her 
child, who will properly be heir alike with you and little 
Joan, of Halfway itself; for you know as well as I do 
that the will your father made in your favour would have 
properly been revoked by his marriage, if anybody had 
cared to protest it. So it’s a long lane that has no turning, 
Garret.” 

“Hold your peace about my affairs,” said the Master 
of Halfway. “You have no call to come here to croak to 
me of judgment. I have paid out more money to them 
than ever she would have inherited by law. You have a 
long lane to be returning, yourself, without trying to set 
me on the right track — and fifty years is rather late in the 
day to get at it.” 

“The only bone you had rightfully to pick with me was 
that I helped your sister Joan on to what she thought was 
love and happiness. You held her with a high hand, and a 
tight rein, and she might have done worse than that had you 
continued to keep her from the man she loved. Whatever 
else were his failings he made her happy with him till he 
died, and you’ve been living on her share of property that 
might have kept her in comfort afterwards.” 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HERITAGE 369 


“Silence!” thundered Garret Wisdom. “Show me what 
you think are the proofs of your claim about the girl, and 
be away. We can have no peace together after what lies 
behind us.” 

Amsey Wisdom looked upon him for full a minute before 
he answered, an inscrutable expression upon his whimsical 
old face, almost mocking, almost tender, at thought of those 
vanished years. 

“Lord, Garret,” said he, “we’re a pair of old fools, aren’t 
we? But no answering glance met his own from the grim 
face opposite, and his voice hardened. 

“You cut off the old friendship,” said he, “you scorned 
the ties of relationship, refused us the old privilege of way 
that had been allowed between the houses for a century and 
more, bought up all the land around to hem us in, cut off 
our water supply, tore up the bridge, forcing us to go 
fourteen miles for all we need, and when you got to the 
end of the string as to dark ways around here, you hunt 
up Joan’s and Phil’s grandchild and legally adopt her so 
you could maybe get your hands on the Island property 
when we are gone, through her!” 

“You did not come to speak of the Halfway household, 
I assume,” said Garret Wisdom. “You are away from 
your story.” 

“Same old fashion I always had, and it always bothered 
you, didn’t it? The process of my mind that would jump the 
brooks instead of following up their course like yours would, 
in proper sequence and all that kind of thing,” said the 
other coolly, his eyes roaming about the room with feasting 
love in their depths, love’s vision long denied — upon the 
wide fireplace with its time-stained stones, the portrait 
above it of Garret’s grandfather and his, out the windows 
where the old garden blossomed, and the path stretched 
onward to the spring. He had not been inside the place 
in all the years since he and Garret had been young to- 


370 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


gether; and scarce a day before that, from five to twenty, 
that they had been apart to its close. 

He had thought, as he rode upon his long way round, 
that perhaps the call might bring about a reconciliation, 
their first meeting together for forty years and more; had 
pondered upon the things that separated them, dwelling 
upon the possibilities of companionship that might still be 
theirs in the years yet vouchsafed ; had thought to go on, from 
the first blustering announcement of his news, to reasoning it 
over, together, perhaps. But there sat the other before him, 
his face immovable as stone, his eyes pitiless and scornful, 
his voice masterful as if castigating a cringing witness. 

The hungering longing look fled from off Amsey Wis- 
dom’s face. “Damn you,” said he, from forth his vexed 
and pent-up spirit, “far as adopting goes, two can play at 
that little game. Orin and I have adopted Lisbeth. Yes, I 
thought that would surprise you a bit, maybe,” as his listener 
gave a start at the words, “and I’ll tell you how it came about, 
and then I’m gone quick as ever I can get out, for I’m done 
with you forever. 

“Jane brought her down to the Island once when she came 
on an errand, three or four years ago I would think, and 
she looked so like somebody we’d seen that we could hardly 
believe she was a stranger. Orin has sharp eyes and ears, 
like Halfway side of the house, too sharp for peace of mind, 
and I like our half-shut ones better, myself; but when the 
girl came again, that first day little Joan stole down to us, 
Orin got it into her head that she looked like the family, 
and began to wonder what her real name was, and where 
she had really come from. Jane had asked Orin if we 
would take her, if she should die sudden, and bring her 
up with us, so when that time came round Lisbeth was 
brought to the Island; and in one of the chests which Lis- 
beth had was a sheet of paper written by Jane telling who 
she herself was, with some addresses and dates that we judged 
might be connected with Lisbeth. We’ve followed them up, by 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HERITAGE 371 

letters, and I’ve been down myself to town to see the old 
doctor; and Lisbeth is the child of that little sister you cast 
adrift from Halfway. That’s a truth, all right.” 

“Yet sounds still like a make-up,” said Garret Wisdom 
curtly. 

“It’s a well fortified one, and knowing you’ld be doubting 
it, I had these copies and certificates made for you. I judged 
you would perhaps like to know about it yourself before it 
gets around the country. We have not told her yet.” 

“Buying me off, I presume! If you have finished your 
tale, you may go.” 

“Hone of that!” spake his visitor. “Keep phrases 
like that for where they belong. I’m asking no favours. 
I’m simply giving you your chance, that’s all. As for leav- 
ing, I’m going when I’m good and ready, which will be 
when I’ve told you that in the doctor’s letter he said that 
Lisbeth’s mother had wished her baby called Wisdom — 
queer she would have wanted the name after all she had 
borne through it, but she did, and so Orin and I concluded 
we would let her have it proper and right, by law, giving 
her a chance to inherit with Joan what we have at the 
Island when we are done with it all. Though she’s not 
little Joan with the dear ways, she is next best thing, and 
makes us think of both Miriam and your grandmother, Gar- 
ret. She can’t go round the countryside looking as like as 
she does to the family, now that she is housed and dressed 
in gentlefolks’ ways, without the story getting out, and as 
we’ve nothing to be ashamed of for our part of it, we’ll let 
it be known after a bit. That’s all I have to say, and I bid 
you good day, Garret,” and he swung wide the door and 
went out, leaving it open behind him. 

Garret Wisdom reached out to the table, eagerly, for the 
papers the other had thrown upon it, his mind and heart 
a tumult within him, wrath at the intrusion, scorn of the 
uttered statements, yet a strange terror of their possible 
truth; hot anger at him who had made them striving with 


372 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


the old remembered joy of his companionship. Even while 
he read the written words, fraught with such import for 
him, he was hearing over again the tones of that easy, 
lazy-going voice; seeing that inscrutable smile that had al- 
ways covered such undiscovered delights of jest or story to 
pique the speech ; listening meantime with his heart’s ear, for 
the outgoing footsteps down the garden pathway. Then swept, 
in spite of himself, out of the tumult of burning thoughts 
within him, he pushed and jerked his chair forward toward 
the open door; obstructed in his progress, rising from off 
it outright, pulling himself on by stick and stay until he 
could watch that solitary old figure making his way down the 
long lane. 

At the flower garden he paused, leaning across the fence 
with roving glance as if seeking for something there that he 
had known and loved. 

“Lady-delights, I suppose! He was always a fool about 
that bed of Lady-delights,” mused the watcher, giving sway 
to the strange anomaly of mind that could thus detach itself 
from all at hand that held for him such fateful purport. 

Where the path struck off to the spring the wayfarer 
stood as if irresolute, starting down upon it a few steps, then 
returning and pursuing his course ; touching with out- 
stretched hand as he passed them the pine-tree trunks, some- 
thing in the action smiting the eyes that watched, like sud- 
den blinding pain. It had been an old trick of their boy- 
hood, the two of them, to run up and down and in unbroken 
beat never to miss a tree tap, thus earning a “wish” at the 
end. Shut out from the long lane so many years, the ges- 
ture must have come without the man’s own volition, scarce 
conscious himself of the furtive boyish passes upon the soft- 
brown boles. 

“Blast him, he never grew up — nor had anything hard to 
meet,” said Garret Wisdom. And just as he knew he would 
do, saw him mount his horse and ride away; the gate, as 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HERITAGE 373 


the door, wide open behind him, with never a look hack 
at Halfway. 

With his passing, the strange mood dropped from off 
the watcher, and he made once again his slow and painful 
progress across the room to his desk, picking up the copied 
letters by the way, and reading them through thrice over; 
brief statements, but undoubtedly valid by the signatures 
attached, with no flaw to mar their value. Then he reached 
for the old paper Joan had brought him, and spread the 
sheet out to his gaze, saying over its contents, in low voice, 
as he read, as if to need the spoken words to verify their 
import. 

“In the name of God, Amen, I, Uriah Wisdom, being 
“of sound mind and memory, do make this my last Will and 
“Testament, and hereby revoking all other wills by me 
“made, do give, devise and bequeath my lands and premises 
“known as Halfway, together with all personal property 
“contained therein and thereon, to my Wife, Miriam Joan, 
“and to my Daughter, Joan Wisdom, their heirs and as- 
signs forever, share and share alike . . .” 

The last Will and Testament of his father! And by it 
Halfway was his no longer, had never lawfully been his 
own! His hands shook that held the sheet, his voice trem- 
bled that read rts lines, the very spirit within him tottered 
before its significance. The outlying lands that he had 
purchased and added thereto were still his right; the thou- 
sands in bonds and banks that he had himself accumulated ; 
but Halfway, with its broad surrounding acreage and its 
grey-gabled roofs, had passed from out his hands, to child 
and grandchild of the two whom he had set at naught. 

As he had pored over it the evening before, it had held 
no such present vital issue for him. Retribution, he had 
read, in the irregular faltering hand that gave back Halfway 
to those sent forth from out it, but since they both had 
long passed from earth there would be now only Joan, he 
thought, to be lawful claimant, and he would himself settle 


374 


JOAJST AT HALFWAY 


with her for her portion, soon as he could think it over and 
come to a decision as to a just and proper equivalent. Thus 
disturbing though it had been, and a shock, to learn the con- 
tents of the old will, yet it had not then touched his inmost 
being; but now the thing was as a flaming sword that cast 
him forth from all he had loved, to own no part nor parcel 
ever again in the home of his fathers. 

He read it over once more, pondering upon it. By the 
date it must have been drawn up only a few weeks before 
his father’s death; at request of the wife, doubtless, and 
hidden by her in the old web of cloth until she should 
decide upon a proper time to bring it forth. But her own 
death had been a sudden one, and in that fateful web the 
thing had been prisoned all the years since, waiting till 
little Joan should travel across a continent to set it free. 
As he thought it over he marvelled at the strange fine honour 
that had constrained her to bring it to him unread, a child 
brought up as she had been from pillar to post. 

He had somewhat accustomed himself through the long 
night’s reflection to yielding her share to J oan, in proper 
time and manner. He had meant to do well by her 
in any event, in spite of his protestations to the con- 
trary, leaving her of his means enough for fitting support, 
for, since she would be rightful heir of the Island heritage, 
she would not need Halfway for a home. 

But here was another heir, a work-house waif, claiming 
to be descendant of that gipsy wife, and by that could de- 
mand a like inheritance with Joan. “Share and share 
alike,” of the great house and its grey old beauty, while he 
must pass from out its doors forever. It could not be true — 
The whole thing was an imposture — And he read over again 
the copied statements, but even as he read her face came be- 
fore him, as she had stood in the doorway and met his gaze, 
her dark soft eyes travelling about the great room — that trick 
of her head turning like a bird, as his grandmother Wisdom’s 
did, as if always she said by it, “Tell me quick what you have 


DISPOSSESSED OF HIS HEKITAGE 375 


to say, for in a trice Eli be flying away again.” He bad seen 
it plainly that day, be knew now, but had not placed it quite, 
only startled by the familiar movement, and the blue-black 
hair above her shadowy eyes. There must be other traits as 
well, for Amsey had said she could not go about the country- 
side and people not know her name — not all gipsy, then, if the 
other strain was coming out this strong. 

The little step-sister came back to his mind, dark, soft- 
eyed, like Lisbeth’s own gaze had been that day. She had 
cherished a strange fondness for him, following him about 
the house with her first early footsteps, and ready at his 
hand, often, when older, for any ministration she could 
render. But the sight of her swarthy face had in somewise 
always irritated him, and he had never responded to the 
Wing attentions, rendering to her only necessary care; 
though had always been able to read the longing look in her 
eyes, so that on his return to Halfway he thought he saw 
it in the portrait of her that hung in the drawing-room be- 
side that other one of himself and his sister, and he had 
carried them both away to the old loom room, hanging 
the small oval one of the child behind the other, that they 
might not meet his gaze in his new occupation of the home. 

It would have been bad enough to have her child alive, and 
known in the community, the old tale passed round the coun- 
tryside, with some natural claim for support from him per- 
haps, but to have her down at the Island with Amsey and 
Orin, adopted by them back into the very name, and inherit- 
ing a half portion of the Island property that he had hoped 
by his own scheming adoption of Joan might ultimately pass 
back to the Halfway holdings, was bitter bread to eat, even 
without the existence of the will. But now by this writ- 
ing to have her joint heir, with Joan, of Halfway itself — 
these two orphan waifs who had knocked about the world, 
homeless, penniless — and he whose proudest consciousness 
had been that he owned it, to be dispossessed! The thing 


376 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


was preposterous. He crumpled the paper tight in his hands 
and bowed his head upon his staff. 

The red coals upon the hearth could have burned it to 
ashes and none been the wiser. Beside himself no one knew 
of its existence, for Joan had not read enough to judge its 
import. The witnesses were long dead. But just as he had 
kept his hands from off the bags of gold dust his dead com- 
rade had left behind in the frozen Klondike wastes, with- 
out trace of temptation to touch, so now with the same un- 
hesitating instinct of honour no thought of destroying the 
instrument or denying its validity even entered his mind. 
Bitter he had been ’gainst those who opposed or sought to 
thwart him, scornful of weak or tender ways, covetous for 
the old holdings and scheming and harsh in his methods of 
attaining them, but never dishonest nor outrightly unmind- 
ful of the claims of actual justice, or the law’s behest. 

The struggle had not been over a decision, but to adjust 
himself to the shock of the knowledge, and to wrench his 
spirit free from what he had so cherished with all his inborn 
pride. Halfway should be theirs, he would yield it up with- 
out a murmur. But he must have time, to face it squarely. 
And hearing the voices of Phoebe and Joan as they passed 
the wing upon their return, he smoothed out the sheet and 
placed it in its covering, enclosing with it the statements 
of death and birth that Amsey Wisdom had left behind him. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


WOODEN WATER-PIPER 

N OT much luck I see,” said Orin Wisdom quietly, as 
Amsey rode up the bridle path late on in the after- 
noon. “We can talk it over here on the garden bench while 
Lisbeth is having her rest within. How did he take the 
news ?” 

“He never took it at all, far as you could tell by ap- 
pearances. What an armour he’s put on around his real 
feelings! He never changed countenance but once in the 
whole interview, nor faltered in his gaze. But I gave it to 
him, root and top, stuffed it down his throat and came away. 
He can have a while to digest it. We’ll keep the story a 
bit longer, I guess, but he’s as headstrong as ever.” 

“Phoebe and Nat think he is changing some, of late. 
Either Hetty being gone he feels his dependence more, or it 
is J oan and her own sweet ways, or his lameness easing up a 
bit, perhaps a Higher Power bringing it about through all 
three means.” 

“I wouldn’t like to think of what he was like before, if 
he’s supposed to have changed for the better now. Hard 
as a rock he is, and scornful and impudent — and yet, 
Orin, I can’t ever get over that old affection I had for 
him always, and the hankering for his company that has 
followed him all the years since we parted ways. Not having 
wife or child, nor even school children like you had, nobody 
has ever taken his place, and I don’t suppose there was ever 
a mail-day in all that time he was away from here that I 
didn’t have a longing kind of expectation there’ d be some 
word from him. I don’t sit down and dwell upon it, as 

377 


378 


JOAN AT HALTWAY 


you know, but it’s been underneath everything else, and 
made the time go slow, some way, though it’s curious, too, 
how the seasons do carry you on from year to year, with 
some special interest in each.” 

“I confess I thought you would come to terms through 
the interview, either from the emotion of the meeting to- 
gether again up at old Halfway, or from a downright fight 
over the whole thing, and a consequent settlement. I suppose 
you weren’t half spunky enough,” said Orin Wisdom with a 
glance half-loving and half in admiration. “That has al- 
ways been your failing, though it has not hindered you from 
having the good will of the whole community.” 

“And I’d a blame sight rather have that than an over- 
dose of spunk like the Halfway family always had. They 
made me clear sick of it — you got a touch of it yourself, 
Orin, though j-ou’ve not the venom of theirs. But I guess 
we’ll continue to worry along without Garret, since we’ve 
Lisbeth now, and I don’t believe little Joan will stand it 
long to be separated from us all. Wonder what she’ll say 
when it comes out about the relationship. She seems to have 
taken a great love for her from the first. It’s good law, all 
right, that the marriage made null and void the will that 
gave Garret everything, and I told him so. He thinks he 
paid off any such claims, to the gipsies themselves, and has 
eased his conscience that way, if he’s got any. He’s so 
proud of Halfway that he’d never yield up jot nor tittle of 
it, likely, without a stiff fight, and we’d hardly advise Lis- 
beth to do that. The bitter pill for him to swallow is to 
own her, and to have her down here, the story coming out 
through us, but we’ve given him his chance, and if he doesn’t 
choose to take it, then we’ll tell it ourselves, when and how 
we please. He never liked the gipsy wife, nor her child, 
and he’ll probably not take to Lisbeth.” 

“I defy him to see her and not love her. She has so 
many points of the family, and but few of the wild race, 
and seems to have been drawn to Garret with a strange sense 


WOODEN WATER-PIPER 


379 


of longing admiration even on her one visit to Halfway. 
She has the look of the little Miriam in her eyes, though 
hers were bluest blue while Lisbeth’s are dark, hut it is that 
sunshine in them and their soft, compelling gaze that attracts 
and will always win her friends. Garret disliked the gipsy 
wife largely because she was no housekeeper. He had an 
innate love for perfect order and system, and how could a 
girl whose sole idea of home had been a campfire in a 
dingle, carry on a great house like Halfway? About the 
only things she took to were the weaving and the flowers; 
and between these and caring for Uncle Uriah and the child 
she had small chance to really learn housekeeping. If Polly 
Ann’s romantic story about there having been another will 
made were true, it would show she had evidently cherished 
a love for Joan and influenced him in her favour again; hut 
give Polly Ann a verb and a noun and she could always 
make up its object, and a story out of it where nobody else 
could see it, so I have never given credence to that tale. 
Gipsy Joan, as we girls used to call her, was tall and dark, 
with a gay vagrant grace about her that always made me 
think of the hollyhocks up their straight stalks. 

“Lisbeth has that gipsy grace, and beauty’s clear claim, 
and I dare predict that she will win Garret over if she is 
given the chance.” 

“Why not tell her all about it now ? I don’t feel like my- 
self the last week or so, and may he going to have a spell of 
sickness. I’d like to see the meeting of those two girls when 
they first find out they are kin. We could get word some 
way to Joan, to come down. I believe I’m getting tired of 
waiting for things to work out ; I’d like to bring something to 
pass myself. The two of them could then go up together to 
Halfway and Lisbeth face him out.” 

“Not just yet, Amsey. Her being brought to Jane, and 
then on here to us, without either Jane or ourselves directing 
it, is so clearly part of a purpose and plan that I hesitate to 
meddle too much with it ourselves. WJiat you did to-day was 


380 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


between you two men, and proper enough, but we’ll wait a 
bit now to see what comes of that before we make our next 
move. You are worn out with the unusual heat, brother, and 
the strain of the drouth. Will the men come to-morrow to 
start the digging in the pasture land, and do you think the 
divining rod pointed fair?” 

“Fair as we can tell until we try it out and disprove its dip. 
The spot is in the lay of land where the little brook used to 
run. I guess you are right, I’m getting almost discouraged 
about striking it ; and carrying back and forth from the casks 
to the two cows that are ailing, rather used me up last night. 
But it’s no use hiding it, being inside Halfway again has 
knocked me out on the top of all else. That broad old fire- 
place and grandfather’s picture there above it brought back 
old days so sharp that I came near making a fool of myself 
before that cuss of a Garret who sat through it all so cool 
and masterful that I could fair have choked him.” 

“And fallen upon his neck with forgiveness the moment 
you lifted up your eyes and saw him afar off!” said the 
sister fondly. “I’m not alarmed over any vengeance you 
threaten to wreak upon him.” 

He laughed his easy lazy laugh — “O, well, Orin, there has 
to be both kinds of folks, to keep the world moving round, 
and I never could see much use in holding grudges longer 
than was necessary.” 

“You did not of course mention our difficulty about the 
water supply?” 

“Not I ! I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I have got 
a spark of spunk after all. But to be up near Halfway 
spring, out of the dry time we’re having here, and not 
get a drink from it was clear torment. My feet almost 
pulled me down the path and it was like hauling two hun- 
dred of stone to get myself back on the lane again, and out, 
without a swallow. I haven’t the Thirst’ as I’ve heard Garret 
has it, but I’ve it bad as I want it for comfort’s sake, and 
it seems to me the last few days that nothing I could ever 


WOODEN" WATER-PIPER 


381 


drink again would satisfy me but the water from that spring. 
All other is flat, beside it. Do you remember, Orin, how it 
used to splash over the big stone basin sometimes, out in the 
yard, when we were youngsters, all over the hot bricks, and 
we’d pad around on them in our bare feet ?” 

“I remember, Amsey,” said she, with half sorrow in her 
proud old voice, “but we won’t dwell upon it now. Did there 
seem any signs of a break in the drouth as you rode along ? 
We are so shut in here with trees that I scarcely can ob- 
serve the conditions.” 

“Not a break, far as I could see. The mill pond has shrunk 
to small pools, and the sedge grass showing all along the 
creek bed. A hot wind, too, that was raising the dust in 
clouds and whipping the leaves to ribbons, along about noon, 
but it has died down now ; and there’s that old sun, blurred- 
red, and like a ball of fire even as late on in the afternoon as 
this is. Rain ! Why, there’s not a rain cloud in sight as big 
as a fly’s eye !” 

“O, well, we must take the saying Lisbeth got from Jane, 
the Skipper, ‘To-morrow will be a new day,’ Amsey, and we 
have fresh buttermilk in the dairy, so we’ll not fare so badly. 
I hear Lisbeth moving about inside. We are better off than 
Garret is in his great house, with his crystal spring, for we 
have no remorse in our hearts nor fancied wrongs to brood 
upon. I fear these days ahead will be grey ones for him, 
while he fights out his battle about acknowledging her.” 

They were indeed grey days for the Master of Halfway, 
and the props seemed to be dropping out from beneath him 
as he dwelt upon all else that must come to pass with his 
acknowledgment of the girl’s relationship. Restless, he 
changed from reading, to writing, or to overlooking of his 
crowded desk; talked sometimes with Joan; but for the most 
part bade her and Phoebe go about their own pursuits, leav- 
ing him alone with his thoughts. It had graven its mark 
already upon the stern old face, a careworn weary look, 


382 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and in his manner a grave concern utterly free from petu- 
lance, or carping speech. 

J oan’s quick sense noticed the mood, and meditated upon 
its source. It could not he from pain, for he was having 
strange relief from his malady, moving about his rooms, 
slowly hut surely, some portion of each day. Sometimes she 
looked up from her hook to find him gazing fixedly upon her, 
and seldom did he make his usual comments, accepting the 
reading in silence. The Thirst’ too was strong upon him 
again. Joan had fancied, because her wish lay beneath her 
thought, that he had been easing up, since they had talked to- 
gether about it; but if he had sought to restrain he had as- 
suredly now returned again to its spell, for it seemed to 
her as she went in and out the rooms that he was always 
lifting or draining the dipper, and her trips to the spring 
were doubled. 

It filled her with strange dismay to see him thus in its 
thralls, and thinking upon it threw a shadow over her own 
spirit. Moreover, the plight of the household at the Island 
was troubling her sore, and the sight of Uncle Garret drinking 
his fill of the cool water gave fresh poignancy to the thought 
of those others unable to quench their thirst from the same 
pure source. 

Once when at the spring, she went across to the little hack- 
matack wood where the small verdured space had seemed 
fresher than the surrounding ground, returning across the 
field to follow the course of the old waterway between the 
two houses. Cultivation had obliterated its track, but the 
stoned up hole in the wall of the spring was in direct line 
with the wood. Her vivid imagination pictured the water 
flowing out into that old stone basin in the brick-paved yard, 
and the overflow into the trough beyond for the thirsting 
kine, the joy it would be to them now at the Island, in their 
sore dearth, to hear its plash and flow once more ; the water 
coursing between them again, perhaps the households too 


WOODEN WATER-PIPER 


383 


might he united ; dwelling upon it all with troubled heart as 
she lay upon her bed that night. 

“I’m off for home,” announced Phoebe briskly when Joan 
came down next morning. “Hiram says they are cutting 
the grain over there, and that the family who have taken the 
house want to move in earlier than I had expected, so I’ll 
have to go to look after things for a few days. I’ve set 
everything in order for you.” 

“A few days, Phoebe!” cried Joan in dismay. “Why, it 
will he so lonesome without you, and now too, while Uncle 
Garret is so quiet, as if he was half sick.” 

“That’s just why I can get off, while he’s mum and 
peaceful. Pie is letting me have the horse and waggon too, 
and I want to start out quick for fear he’ll repent of it be- 
fore I’m really away. I’d like to have you go along, and 
show you my old home, hut it would never do for us both 
to leave him. Hiram and Amanda will sleep up at the house 
in case of fire or sickness; Amanda can look after your 
Uncle now almost as good as I can, and with much more 
ease to him, since he doesn’t have to use his strength up talk- 
ing hack.” 

“0, I’d love so to go,” said Joan, “and you will have to 
take me the very next time, sure, Phoebe. But I’m so glad 
you’re not having to walk away down to get the coach.” 

“Walk away down!” retorted Phoebe. “What’s to hinder 
me from walking if I chose to ? Do you think the years that 
happen to get added onto me from time to time, are going 
to keep me from doing what I want to do ? I don’t intend to 
go out to meet old age, halfway, like some folks do, nor any 
way at all. It’s got to hunt me up, and I’ll whack it at every 
show of its face. If a crack of air is a draft, to he afraid 
of, then I’ll open wide the door and sit in a good broad one ; 
if I’ve lame ankles from a tramp one day I’ll walk twice 
as far the next, and when my knees feel stiff going upstairs 
I shall run up and down till I get the stiffness out and 
the essential oils flowing again. I’ll not be old just yet 


384 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


awhile, not I ! and I’m riding, this time, from clear choice, not 
necessity. Fm nearly sixty, maybe, but my muscles are hard 
as a goat’s knee, and I could knock the side of a barn in if I 
had to!” 

“It’s great fun hearing you talk, Phoebe ; I truly don’t be- 
lieve you ever will get stiff or old, and I know what you mean 
about feeling so strong, for I do, too, as if I would just 
have to have something awfully hard to do, to use it up.” 

“Well, you’ve your Uncle to tackle for a few days, and 
that will exhaust some of your energy. I’ve thought of 
something I can bring you back. You were fretting because 
you had no keepsake to give Pelig when he went off, and if 
I mistake not I’ve got something home that he’d prize all 
right, it’s an old daguerreotype of his grandfather, Uncle 
Jock he was always called, taken when he was a young fellow 
like Pelig, all rigged up fine — gentleman style, in high collar 
and silk stock, a pink colour in his cheeks and his curly 
hair all over his forehead. Nat looks like him, I’ve heard. 
I never thought about it till yesterday when I was dusting 
over the lot of them there are in the cabinet here, and it came 
to me that you might like to have it to give Pelig, so he can 
grow up to it as he goes along.” 

Phoebe got her hug for that, all right. “0, it is just 
exactly what I would like to give him, Phoebe. But we ought 
to call him John, now, his new name, you know.” 

“We will when we think of it, and when we don’t he’ll 
suffer nothing thereby. One is as good as the other, to my 
liking.” 

“Yes, but you see the new one stands for what he’s going 
to do, ahead,” explained Joan. “I do wish somebody would 
give him a lot of money so he could get on quick instead of 
having to wait so long to earn it all.” 

“Money isn’t the sole thing that gives you a place in the 
world,” said Phoebe wisely. “Those poor rich people the 
Collins, who have only dollars and cents to their credit, 
couldn’t turn a phrase at the courts of heaven or earth to 


WOODEN WATER-PIPER 


385 


save their necks or souls, and they’ll never amount to any- 
thing except being rich ; hut Pelig has a tongue in his head 
and a wit of his own to carry him on fast as he’s able to go. 
Now I’ll make myself ready for a start; Hiram has the 
chaise all ready. I’ve another thing to tell you though, and 
that is that I’ll likely drive back around the Island and drop 
in to see how they are getting along there. Hiram says Orin 
Wisdom took to her bed yesterday, not downright sick but 
just ailing and weak. It’s the dry weather and the sky like 
brass, that’s affecting her likely, as it is your Uncle Garret, 
and will lay the rest of us low, if a downpour doesn’t come 
soon to break the strain.” 

“Phoebe, couldn’t you stay there and take care of them, 
if they need you ? I’ll do double of everything here if you 
only will.” 

“If I feel I have a call to I likely will; if not, I won’t. 
Orin boxed my ears 'once when I went to school to her, and 
I’ve never been able to forget it. We don’t exactly pull to- 
gether since, though I admire her good points and her good 
looks; but she is so superior, O, so superior!” and Phoebe 
lifted her head high in such delightful mimickry of the 
stately and beautiful old Mistress at the Island, that Joan 
laughed before she had thought. 

“I’m not laughing at Aunt Orin,” she protested in de- 
fence, “but at you, Phoebe.” 

“An act that needs explaining has usually a lame leg,” 
replied the other — but noting the desire within the eyes that 
shone so wistful at mention of the Island household, she 
stooped in unusual emotion and gave Joan a good-bye em- 
brace that warmed the young lonely heart through and 
through, so that she watched the chaise down the long lane 
quite divested of the tremor of loneliness that had assailed 
her at Phoebe’s first announcement of departure. 

^Aunt Orin lying “weak and ailing” at the Island, and no 
water yet in their wells ! It filled her mind with concern. It 
beat in undertone with all else that came to hand or thought, 


386 


JOAN AT -HALFWAY 


a tattoo of love upon heart and brain ; and while she dwelt 
upon it a desire was horn within her, daring and strong, that 
ere the day was half past had grown to a purpose. 

All the while that she was doing what was required in the 
house that Phoebe kept so shining clean — all the hour she read 
aloud in the wing rooms, it was turning over and forming it- 
self, a subconscious working. And when she had taken in 
TJncle Garret’s dinner to him, as he had requested, she hurried 
down herself to the spring, running swiftly across to the 
little wood. The fields o’er which she passed were dry and 
brown, the sumac’s foliage yellowed and falling, the wild-rose 
clumps and the orchard leaves curled and faded in the hot 
breath of the drouth that lay upon the land ; but within the 
wood, under the hackmatack shade, was that small verdured 
space, stretching for several yards in length, and spreading 
out upon one side to where the land dropped off in ravinedike 
formation. 

She paced it over to the spring, as she had seen the men 
do in the survey of the water way at the School, smiling her 
crooked little smile at her own short-measure strides. She 
hunted about for a sharp, strong limb, prodding and scratch- 
ing away the moss and leafmould from the surface depth. No 
sign of moitsure could be felt, but something there must be 
beneath it, that kept the vegetation above them fresher than 
the surrounding stretches. She examined the plugged-up 
opening in the spring’s stone wall. 

The process of Joan’s mind was direct, to determine was 
to do, but in this purpose that lay before her now there was 
another beside herself involved, and that one was Uncle 
Garret. She must feel and fumble her way, at first, if 
thereby she might engage him as co-worker. So she returned 
to the house. 

He called to her, almost as soon as she entered, and she was 
glad of the summons since it served to set in motion the work- 
ings of her design. 

She came to the wing rooms through the hall passage, paus- 


WOODEN WATEE-PIPEE 


387 


ing for a moment upon the threshold, with that stay of mo- 
tion that the old Uncle had grown to watch for, always with 
delight in the nnconscions charm it lent her. 

The sight of her appealed to him with unwonted satis- 
faction, battling sore as he was over the possible relinquish- 
ment of Halfway and all that it entailed of sacrifice and 
tradition. The pictures upon the walls, the books within 
their cases, the mullioned windows that gave their outlook of 
its broad acreage, the yawning old fireplace with its time- 
stained stones — the thought of leaving them, of living with- 
out them, stunning him with a dull numb protest; he could 
not meet it fairly, yet, and the hours passed slowly while 
the struggle went on. 

“I called to you twice,” said he; “were you out of the 
house ? You may read for awhile now. I cannot get myself 
asleep, as usual. 

“It’s this old long dry spell, Uncle Garret!” said Joan. 
“Some people are sick with it, already, Phoebe says. I do 
wish it would rain. Won’t the crops be spoiled?” 

“Never allow yourself to fuss about the weather, Jo-ann. 
Take it as it comes. Euss over what you can change, or 
hinder, or help, but not over things that are out of your 
power. Year in and year out it averages up all right, with 
equally good results in the end; a poor root crop is often a 
good hay one, and the other way another season; a light 
apple yield means better prices; the same thing applies in 
lumber and other commodities. It looks a small mind to be 
fuming and complaining about weather and crops.” 

“But the wells are going dry, Uncle Garret.” 

“Need that concern you,” asked he, “since we have no fears 
that our spring will perish? Has it fallen any in depth, 
Jo-ann ?” 

“Not much, only down as far as those holes where it goes 
into the pipes for the house. Uncle Garret, what kind of 
pipes are they ?” asked she. “Iron ones ?” 


388 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

He looked up at her with surprise. “What do you know 
about pipes V ’ 

“I thought I told you once, that I had to help lay them, 
at that dreadful School; all the girls had to, in vacation 
time ; you know we had to work out our board, all of us who 
had no homes nor people. The water was brought a long 
way, and we worked at it, just like boys. I used to hate it 

so, the wet and the mud, and we would get so tired But 

I am so glad now, that I did it,” added she. 

“I like to hear you say so,” said Garret Wisdom, “and 
though pipe-laying might seem a strange piece of knowledge 
for so young a girl, I have noticed that every experience we 
have in life comes in again to help us through or over another. 
I presume that the school pipes were of metal. Halfway 
raised her own ; they are bored or drilled logs of spruce, simple 
and home-grown, but very effectual in withstanding the in- 
roads of time, J o-ann. The pointed end of one section enters 
tightly into the iron bound open end of another.” 

Joan’s mind leaped, and the puzzle of the green space 
within the little wood was beginning to be solved. 

“Like that old hollowed out log in the corn-crib?” asked 
she eagerly, “and are our pipes all the same length of that ?” 

He half rose from out his chair at her words, then settled 
back again, but his eyes were sharp upon her face as he 
spoke. 

“Since you were not reared upon a farm how would 
you know a corn-crib from any other of the outbuildings, 
and what do you know about a hollow log within it ?” 

Joan’s own voice was still pent and eager as she answered 
him, as though behind her spoken words was pressing a tor- 
rent of thought. “I can’t tell you how I find out things like 
I seem to. It’s queer. I see without ever knowing I’m look- 
ing, and hear without ever knowing I’m listening. I sup- 
pose the corn-crib sounded such a funny name, as if some- 
thing was being put to sleep in it, so I asked Pelig to show 
it to me ; and it was such a queer shape too, that I wanted to 


WOODEN WATER-PIPER 


389 


look inside of it, and I must have noticed a piece of log there 
with a hole clear through it, for I can see it lying there now, 
just as plain — but I never thought of it again till this very 
minute. And, Uncle Garret, it’s the very thing exactly 
that I wanted to know, and Pm going to ask you some- 
thing ” 

He checked her speech with his uplifted hand. “Not upon 
forbidden topics, nor upon any other, at present. You may 
start the reading, and we will have no further talking,” said 
he, with the old imperious tone again that had been absent 
from his voice in the past few days. 

“O, but I can’t read now !” cried Joan, all fear of him lost 
in her eager purpose, and Joan-faskion plunging straight 
into the heart of it at once. “Uncle Garret, there is a little 
half green spot in the woods beyond the spring. Is it a 
place where the pipes are parted, or where a whole piece of 
pipe was taken up that led down to the Island ? The stuff has 
crumbled away a little bit out of that plugged up hole in the 
spring wall, and must leak through a little. Do let me dig 
up the place, and lay that joint down again, if that truly is 
the piece in the corn-crib — O, please do, so they can have 
plenty of water down at the Island.” 

His stick struck with vehemence upon the floor, as if his 
own speech astounded at her words could give no adequate 
utterance. But it did not stay her. 

“They are suffering for water, Uncle Garret; the men 
have dug and can’t get any, and Aunt Orin is half sick. 
Why can’t we let the water go down there again like it used 
to, and we be friends and happy together ?” 

“Stop!” said he. “You have violated all my orders con- 
cerning that place. You have visited them repeatedly.” 

“Only three times, Uncle Garret ” 

“To be exact, three times,” continued he, “and that is 
three times too often, you understand. You have spoken 
of them to me against my expressed wishes, and now connive 
with them to relieve their troubles which they could easily 


390 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


have averted themselves by digging deeper wells at the out- 
set. Speak of them no further, now, J oan. And you may 
leave me until you feel quite willing to abide by my com- 
mands.” 

But Joan did not go. His words were sharply chosen, 
but the wonted cutting tone was absent again, his face grave, 
his deep blue eyes that had never lost their lustre with his 
years, holding now a sad and baffled expression that she had 
never seen within them. It drew her to him, her own hot 
feeling of desire strong within her young heart, the light 
that lighted her small dark face all aglow upon it. 

“Let us send it to them, our lovely spring water,” she 
pleaded. “Do you know it, the old stone basin Aunt Orin 
said it came out into? O, wouldn’t they love to hear 
it splashing in again this smoky dusty day ! And they never, 
never asked me to speak to you, nor made any complaint, nor 
even told me a thing about the water once coming there, till 
I asked them my very self. They are just as proud as — we 
are, Uncle Garret.” 

His old lips twitched at that “we,” and the blue eyes in 
spite of himself grew tender. What witchery of mood did she 
have within her to choose the word, the sweet inflection of it, 
the linking of her young years with his old ones, as she 
stood before him, half woman, half child. His mother, his 
sister, his father, himself — he could see them all met in her 
dauntless gracious make-up. Yet he could not yield to her 
request. Soon enough Halfway and Halfway spring might 
pass from out his claims. But till such time as he deemed it 
best to make that transfer and acknowledge the gipsy’s 
grandchild as joint heir with this Joan who stood before him, 
he would make no show of other yielding — and he hardened 
his heart again. 

“Your tongue is loose to-day,” said he; “it is a wise plan 
never to say any more at one time than you can safely gather 
up. You have gone beyond all proper bounds.” 

“I’m sorry to make you feel troubled, and I’m going to 


WOODEN WATER-PIPER 


391 


leave the room in a minute, Uncle Garret,” she answered him. 
“But do let us send the water down to them even if we can’t 
he friendly. It’s only a few yards to dig up, and I can roll 
that old piece of piping down as easy as can he, and we can 
pry out the stoned-up hole, for it’s started already; please 
do say it can he joined up ! I’d rather do it for you than for 
myself, and they would like it better too. But if you really 
won’t say yes, then I just believe I’ll — do — it — my own self.” 

Stick and voice alike stopped her brave pleading. “Since 
it would he utterly impossible for you to do the thing you 
purpose, I need not even take notice enough of it to forbid 
you,” said he harshly. “Leave the room at once, Jo-ann, I 
am astonished at your boldness.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE WATER FLOWS BACK TO THE ISLAHD 

W HEN she had gone from out the room Garret Wisdom 
leaned forward heavily upon his stick, wrought to 
his very depth by the interview and her astounding proposal, 
thinking upon it, reproachfully, that she should have so out- 
raged his authority by her visits to the Island, and now by 
this audacious proposition. Strange it was, though, that 
such practical knowledge, unusual for a girl, should he hers, 
and the keen, clear brain that leaped so surely to conclu- 
sions and decisions, uncommon for so young a head. Bold 
words indeed had she uttered, yet the fresh ringing voice 
with its wistful cadence someway robbed them of their hold 
intent as he dwelt now upon them. 

So she had heard the old story, and knew the Island 
affairs in spite of his commands. They were short of water 
there, — then let them dig deeper wells. Yes, he knew the 
old stone basin in the brick-paved yard, had played and 
splashed with bared feet in its overflow with Amsey and Phil 
and Joan, had sat upon the broad door stone of the house that 
seemed always to have just stepped out into the garden gay, 
had danced in the round parlour above, supped at the chair- 
table many a night, and returned to Halfway through that 
woodland path. 

They had been a care-free and easy-going household, not 
carrying on their establishment with such plenty nor such 
dignity as did Halfway, hut where in all the country could 
you have spent so good a time, in gay banter and happy 
laughter ? 

Amsey had it, in his speech, in the lilt of his voice, and 
392 


THE WATEK FLOWS BACK TO THE ISLAND 393 

that boyish old face with its look of eternal youth upon it. 
Phil had been gay to dissipation, hut Amsey had never 
swerved from the straight path — and if he had only not done 
that thing, the thing that had parted them, helping Joan and 
Phil off on their runaway adventure, the breach might never 
have come between them, nor Halfway been closed, nor his 
own life embittered, nor all the other fatal consequences that 
had followed in its wake. 

Well, they were too old now to make it up, or to try to 
change the “spots” in their characters that Time had set so 
deep ; it was too late ; the road too long to traverse hack. 
From some byway of the long road had Joan come to him; 
down another of the bypaths had that other found her way, 
and through them both would come, all too soon, the dis- 
solution of all that seemed to him his being and his desire. 
Until that time, the day when he himself should deem it 
fitting season for his announcement and his renunciation, 
he would make no other yielding, and once and for all Joan 
must understand this. 

After a while he called to her. But she did not answer. 

It must have been an hour since he had bade her leave him. 
He called again. The long dark entryway stretched beyond 
the opened door, and the cry echoed through it, and up to the 
halls above, but no young feet came tripping down the wind- 
ing stair, nor small sweet face lighted the dark entrance. 

It could not he that she had gone to carry out her design. 
He lifted himself to his feet, resting upon his chair, and 
looked from out the window far as eye could reach beyond 
the bend of the path, scanning the several approaches to it 
from lane and outbuildings, standing so long that his limbs 
felt strangely steady beneath him. Once he thought he saw 
some one stooping and rising, by turns, upon the lower bend, 
but could not see plainly for the branches of the trees, and 
eager to prove the sight, started away from his chair outright, 
walking across the room, by passing support, to the verandah 
door, throwing wide the portal; and astonished at his new 


394 : 


JOAN- AT HALFWAY 


found strength actually pulling himself across the threshold, 
to the outside settle seat. 

A smoke-like vapor filled the land, settling down over the 
hills like a mantle, the sunlight shining through with feeble 
rays, diffused as through a veil ; the stillness impressive, the 
thin dry air seeming incapable of motion, even the leaves 
upon the trees as stirless as the stagnant elements about 
them. 

Again he thought he saw a figure upon the lower stretch 
of the path, approaching from the cluster of outbuildings, hut 
orchard houghs between shut off a further view. He called 
once more, and reaching in toward the opened door lifted 
the old iron knocker upon it in a succession of raps that 
must have resounded throughout all the house, hut no one 
answered the clamouring din, and the echoes died away in 
the stillness. 

Garret Wisdom pulled himself together for a daring 
thing. He was going down to the spring, or as far as the 
crotch of the path, from whence he could plainly see the 
hackmatack wood. If Joan should he doing that hold deed 
she had essayed, she must he stopped in it at once, even if he 
must send her out from Halfway. He reached in the corner 
of the room for a second stick, a low heavy one with spread- 
ing head. The easy, hroad steps from verandah to ground 
lent a descent not greatly fraught with pain. Some strange 
new energy seemed in his limbs,, impelled hy his spirit de- 
termined and dogged. 

“She shall not do it!” he muttered as he crept slowly 
with his two supporting canes across the open ground to the 
garden. From there the course of the path lay close to the 
picket fence, the wide rail upon which the pickets were 
nailed just at arms’ height, making a continuous prop along 
all the way. Sometimes he rested with hack braced against it. 
How and then he leaned down upon it to gather fresh 
force. Once he stopped outright, a fearful feeling within 
him that he would fall prone upon the ground, never to rise 


THE WATER FLOWS BACK TO THE ISLAND 395 


again, but oome power urged him on and be continued bis 
course. 

Then suddenly be lifted bis bead, listening intently to a 
sound' that fell upon tbe dry breathless air, and rounding a 
turn of tbe fence saw Joan just witbin tbe little wood, ber 
sleeves rolled to ber shoulders, arms wielding the pickaxe, 
singing blithely as she bent to it with strong and practised 
stroke. 

A wave of anger surged up through him, of hot intoler- 
ance; and then something snapped witbin him, and tbe old 
pulse of youth and strength beat warm once more, and what 
bad never really died in bis heart but bad only shrivelled and 
faded, sprang to life, at sight of ber there, working tbe work 
of Him who bad sent ber back to Halfway from a byway 
of tbe old thorny road that she might through her sweet and 
resolute ways break the bands that bound tbe Master of it. 

“Jo-ann,” be cried; “Jo-ann.” And she beard him and 
came to him. 


Joan thought that never in ber life would she forget ber 
gladness on bearing that call, nor ber astonishment at tbe 
sight of him where be stood. 

“0, please, please don’t say again that I shall not do it,” 
she exclaimed, “for it’s dug a quarter through at one end 
already, and I’ve rolled down that old piping, and got a pick- 
axe and spade and a crowbar and mallet and enough other 
things to build a bouse and a bam, I guess,” speaking with 
impulsive baste, fearing even yet bis opposition or bis hostil- 
ity. 

But when she saw tbe unusual expression of bis counte- 
nance and beard bis words of explanation and consent con- 
cerning tbe project, ber joy was unbounded. Tbe two of them 
were no longer to be separated in desire or intent, but working 
on as one in effort of its achievement. He talked over tbe 
project with ber, advising as to tbe best means to be employed, 


396 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


regretful that he could not expend some strength himself 
upon it, and spare her own. 

“It’s just exactly the right day to do it,” she said, return- 
ing from the house with other implements of his suggesting, 
and with a light low chair for him to rest upon during his 
further progress across the field. “It’s lucky Phoebe being 
away, and Hiram up in the wood lot, so nobody will ever need 
to know that I started out at it first myself. We can just say 
that we Halfway ones wanted the water to go back again to the 
Island in this dry spell,” added she, in beautiful and utter 
forgetfulness of her own great part in its performance. “That 
was why I wanted so for us to do it to-day, to have it all by 
ourselves, you know. Isn’t it lovely that things always work 
around the way you want them to, after a while ?” 

He looked over at her with a half smile from lips all 
unused to such pleasant manner of response, and Joan being 
wise enough not to probe further as to future events, the 
two bent all their energies upon the task at hand. 

Eested by the way in the low chair, Uncle Garret by easy 
stages was got safely across the little stretch of field and 
established at the edge of the wood, from whence he could 
direct the work, would have shorter distance also to travel 
on again to the spring, when the time came round to open 
up the outlet passage. 

It was going to be long and heavy labour for Joan’s young 
arms in spite of her ready will, and Garret Wisdom, looking 
on, was concerned lest she might not be able to endure to the 
accomplishment of the task, so it seemed like a fairy tale 
from out a book that just when she had cleared away the moss 
and tangling roots from off the green stretch, she should look 
up and see, standing at the corner of the picket fence, Pelig, 
gazing upon them with wondering eyes. 

Pelig, who only on the previous day learning that Hard- 
scrabble was his own, had secured a brief release from work 
that he might journey thither to thank the one who had given 
it; had driven down with George on the early route, and 


THE WATEE FLOWS BACK TO THE ISLAND 397 

where Phoebe joined them at the corner had heard of Half- 
way doings and of the Master’s ability to move about his 
rooms; had walked on across the pasture lands and up the 
long lane to the house, rapping at the wing room doors but 
getting no answer ; pushing on to the side entrance had found 
no one within the place ; passing through the passageway and 
venturing unhidden even to the Master’s precincts had found 
them vacant ; and wondering and puzzled over the strange ab- 
sence, concerned lest it mean that some calamity had fallen 
upon them, had followed on to the spring whence so many 
times a day some one must journey back and forth to Half- 
way. 

“O, he’ll help us,” said J oan as Pelig made his way hur- 
riedly across the field. “We won’t mind having him, Uncle 
Garret, will we, for he would never tell about it, to anybody.” 
And she sprang forward with outstretched hand. 

“We’re laying a piece of the old pipe that used to go 
down to the Island, so the water can go there again,” she 
said, hastily, to give the old Uncle time to decide what he 
himself might wish to add concerning it. “And we are so 
glad you came. You’ll help, won’t you ?” 

But Pelig had his own business to get through first, so all 
absorbing to his mind that for the time being he seemed not 
to be conscious of the astonishing fact that Garret Wisdom 
was where he was, instead of in his own rooms upon his 
wonted chair. He paused before him, now, and pulling his 
cap from otf his red shock of hair, stood bare-headed. 

1 “I came to tell you that I’ve only just found out about you 
: giving me the Hardscrabble property — and I can’t take it 
from you, sir — after all I said to you that night. I’ll buy 
it, if you’ll let me have it that way, but I couldn’t let you 
give it to me, when I didn’t even stop to say a civil farewell 
to you when I left Halfway.” 

“Nonsense, nonsense,” said the Master of Halfway. “I 
can’t have child’s play like that, taking it back when it has 
been your own a month past. How did you learn of it ?” 


398 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


“A man told me that if I searched up the records I might 
find some flaw in the old titles, and that I could get it away 
from you in that way, and I sent him to look it all up, and he 
found it was already mine, since that very night! I can’t 
take it, sir, when I remember all I said.” 

“Stuff and nonsense,” replied Garret Wisdom. “We both 
said things. That is what our tongues were given us for, 
to help us fight out our battles. You proved your right to 
the name, by the use you made of yours, young though you 
were. In a long life a man may see many a deed he may 
wish undone, but I’ll not undo that one, John Wisdom. Take 
off your coat, and help us on here with our work.” 

It was the use of the new name that settled it, spoken in 
the new tone, that though still imperious, rang with some 
fresh vibrant note of good fellowship. 

John Wisdom stepped forward and lifted the older man’s 
hand, bowed his red head down upon it with a strange old- 
time grace that could have been nought but a gift straight 
from the Grandfather Jock, gentleman in dress and mien. 
“Thank you, sir,” said he simply. “Now for the digging!” 
and throwing cap and coat to the ground he bent his strength 
to the task within the little wood. 

“Thought you were fretting because you were only a girl 
and couldn’t do anything worth while,” said he as he took 
from Joan’s hands the heavy pick-axe and with strong strokes 
loosened the stones and earth along all the course that she 
had cleared of moss and twigs. 

“I’ve not done very much, yet,” said she. “It’s great to 
have you help us, but I almost wish too that I could really 
have done it all, just to prove myself.” 

“You could, sure, easy as wink, but it would have taken 
time. As it is now we’ll be through in less than an hour. Mr. 
Wisdom says we can s°w this old joint in two and so get it set 
a lot quicker than if we had to dig up both adjoining ones to 
fit it together. He can get a new piece later on, or tar 
this join-up over; but the thing to do now is to get the 


THE WATER ELOWS BACK TO THE ISLAND 399 


water through quick, for I’ve got to get back to-night to the 
river, and Mr. Wisdom wants Hiram and me to fix up the 
little bridge across the creek.” 

“So we all can go hack and forth again like they used to ! 
Isn’t he splendid!” 

A broad smile illumined Pelig’s freckled face. “Guess 
you’ve done your share there, too, in getting the ‘splendid’ 
part brought to light,” said he, “and I’ll bet ’twas stonier 
digging than this is ! But he did something fine for me, all 
right ; gave me Hardscrabble, out and out ! I’ll have to tell 
you all about it some other time, for now we’ll have to work 
like blazes if I’ve the bridge yet to fix up. The old abutment? 
are there, and we can rig up stringers across, someway, and 
plank it off Amsey’s pile that he always kept handy.” And 
both of them laughed together over Amsey’s shrewdness, then 
fell to work with redoubled speed. 

“O, here is the end of the other section,” cried Joan 
jubilantly, “and there truly is a tiny bit of a stream trickling 
through it from that broken place in the outlet hole! I 
knew there must be some water coming from somewhere, to 
make this place look greener than the rest.” 

“How did you ever come to think of it at all? He says 
that you found it out all yourself.” 

“He didn’t need to tell you that, and I never heard him 
say it.” 

“When I was moving over his chair just a few minutes ago. 
It’s only fair for you to have the credit, but I wonder how 
you ever got started on the idea.” 

“Why, Aunt Orin showed me the old path that used to 
run along the conduit, and I saw this place here, green, while 
everything else is baked up, and she said the water didn’t run 
to the Island now, so knowing about pipes at that School, 
made me follow it up, someway. Then I was worrying be- 
cause they couldn’t have the water, when they need it so 
now, and all the old quarrel, you know; and when I asked 
him about it and he told me what kind of pipes these were, 


400 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


why, I just remembered quick that piece out in the corncrib, 
and thought he might have maybe taken it up so nobody 
could get the water through secretly, though of course Uncle 
» Amsey would never do that. I had been thinking, and think- 
ing, but it seemed such a puzzle; and then it all just snapped 
together right. Aren’t our minds queer things ?” 

: “Yours is a wonderful one, I would say!” 

“It’s no better than your own. I don’t see what we have 
them for unless we use them. I just had all those things 
stowed away in mine, and made them work together, that’s 
all.” 

“And you’ll be doing your big things out in the world too, 
some day,” said he. “How on earth though did he ever man- 
age to jaunt down here ! I can’t believe he did it all himself, 
as he says he did, though Hiram told me he was limbering up 
amazingly.” 

“I could hardly believe it myself, Pelig, when I saw him 
here, and I’ve been so excited that I don’t realize it even yet. 
Phoebe says he got all clear of his lameness once before. 
But I don’t think he’ll be able to get back alone, he looks 
so pale.” 

“He won’t have to. Hiram and I will take him up, but 
here is our other end free, so you go tell Mr. Wisdom, while 
I saw and fit it and then we’ll be ready to loosen up the ce- 
ment and stone in the outlet hole.” 

Pelig had helped him at his request to a little knoll, that 
he might have survey of the scene before him, the broad fields, 
the slope that led to the spring, grey old Halfway lifting its 
roofs from out the tree tops, and the high wooded hills that 
so effectually shut the Island from view that Joan had never 
guessed its nearness. His eyes, prisoned so long ’tween walls, 
roved greedily about over his wide domain, his thoughts long 
thoughts, but all revengeful brooding dropped away with 
that something that had snapped within him at sight of Joan 
digging up the old waterway. While he sat there he had 
made ready his own plans for the announcement of the recon- 


THE WATER FLOWS BACK TO THE ISLAND 401 


ciliation. Joan’s feet were to carry the good tidings to the 
Island; Amsey Wisdom was to be asked to come to him in 
the little wood; while soon as a temporary bridge could be 
thrown across the creek, Lisbeth was to be brought to him 
without delay, for now, while the fervour of the doing made 
warm his heart, now had come the fitting time to acknowledge 
her and to relinquish Halfway. Before he should sleep up- 
on his bed this night the old troubles should all be cast 
aside and he be free to meet the new days ahead, whose span 
might yet yield him joy, since the allotted labour and sorrow 
had so filled those behind. 

It seemed to J oan that her feet fairly dragged over the old 
pathway, for her heart outran her footsteps. But the water 
outsped them both, as if eager and glad to be rushing again 
through the old tree trunks, sparkling out once more in the 
stone basin, splashing over upon the brick paved yard, and 
o’erflowing to the moss covered trough beyond. 

They heard it at the Island, through the opened doors of 
the house, as they sat within, and were already standing 
about the basin as if looking upon a miracle, when the feet 
of her that had wrought the earthly doing of it sped through 
the garden paths and out in their midst with her glad tid- 
ings. 

“And an highway shall be there !” exclaimed Orin Wisdom 
in the oracular utterance that had so lifted Joan to her on 
that first day of their meeting. “It was my Verse’ this morn- 
ing, and I had been thinking upon it, wondering what it held 
for me — ‘An highway shall be there, and a way’ once more, 
between the two old homes! O, blessings upon you, little 
Joan !” And she was clasped close to the strong loving heart 
of the woman who had read too many books of life in the 
long years behind her not to know, even though J oan told no 
tale of her own doings, that it was through her the highway 
had been thus opened up. 

As for Amsey Wisdom being asked to step up to the 


402 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


little wood, as Garret had instructed, why he was up and off 
before J oan had even remembered the message out of all else 
she had to say. And there they “had it out” together, alone, 
under the green tree shade, with the water from Halfway 
spring flowing as of old for both houses, with fair speech 
and good comradeship once more established between them- 
selves. 

The retrospect of the drear and barren road behind them, 
Amsey had made a short cut across, in that delightful Island 
fashion that had enabled Joan to cut the Gordian knots that 
had so bound old Halfway. And the wall between them 
raised so high by Garret Wisdom through the long years 
past, so high that it almost seemed they could scarce lay it 
low again in the few that were yet left them, he overcame 
in the same way. 

“Don’t let us try to level it, or to walk hack the road,” 
said he when the other sought to explain the things that 
had set them at naught. “We’ll leave the past alone, and just 
crawl under in this little opening Joan has made for us, and 
travel on in a new path : for our natures haven’t changed in 
this trice, and first thing we know we’ll he having a fresh 
row if we talk it all over. We’ve both erred.” 

“I, the most,” said Garret Wisdom gravely. 

“Well, I’ll let you have your way about that, I suppose, hut 
in all else you’ve got to give up taking the lead after this,” 
said the other in jocular mood to lift the shadow. “And as for 
our time ahead being long or short, I wouldn’t wonder a mite 
if we’d get off fishing yet, once you’re really limbered up 
again. Remember how we used to fleck the stream together 
and envy the fish their fill of water day and night? Gad, 
Garret, hut that ‘thirst’ we’ve all got is a strange thing, 
hounding us as it has from generation to generation. Orin 
has tried again and again to break it up in me, and didn’t 
succeed. Yet here I am in sight of that old spring I’d have 
given everything I had, the last weeks, for a drink from, and 


THE WATER ELOWS BACK TO THE ISLAND 403 


I’ve not even a hankering in my throat nor a desire in my 
mind. What do you make of it?” 

“The same thought has come to me,” said Garret Wisdom. 
“Except as I slept I have not gone without a drink of it for 
more than a half hour stretch, and now it has been hours 
since I ? ve had a swallow, or wanted it.” 

“I never seem to have known there was a second line to 
the couplet, till we found it all written out on a piece of paper 
in Jane’s old chest. Do you recollect it? ‘Sons son can end 
it/ I couldn’t make any sense to it when I read it then, nor 
since, but it just came to me now that maybe you’ve done 
the thing that ends it, by sending the water to us again in our 
need. See ! ’Twas by some one of us refusing it, in the 
first place, that started it, and now by giving it, and to your 
enemy, Garret, you’ve broken the spell ! What do you think ?” 

“I suppose if we had stopped to think enough about it at 
any time we could have known it was foolish and needless, 
but it has been perpetuated from one to another, in speech 
and example. Even the strange Thirst’ itself, apart from any 
curse, could have been passed down by inheritance like any 
other instinct. Eor my own part I’ve dwelt upon it too much, 
with being away so long in lonely places, and of late being 
shut up by myself. Joan is for fighting it, and all the rest 
of the family failings besides, and I shouldn’t wonder, now, 
myself, with other interests opening up, if we might be able 
to let it go by the board, and by degrees get clear of its spell. 
But there are other and graver matters to be spoken of now 
which concern others beside ourselves, and for this I must 
get back to the house, for I prefer to tell you of them in old 
Halfway itself.” 

So when he had been helped up over the difficult way, sup- 
ported by Pelig’s strong arm, but refusing outright all aid 
at the piazza steps, with stubborn force of will making his 
own mounting up them that he might return to Halfway as 
he had departed, of his own strength — there within the wing- 
rooms, upon his accustomed seat, he unfolded to Amsey Wis- 


404 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

dom the story of the will that Joan had released from its 
long hiding. 

“Lisbeth and Joan heirs to Halfway and yon no title to it 
yourself ! It’s neither just nor lawful !” said Amsey Wisdom 
in the fervor of friendship regained. “I judged Lisbeth 
should have a share, somehow, and I pressed you pretty hard 
that day to try to rub it in you, but for you to lose it outright, 
it’s monstrous and unnatural ! Have you known it long 2” 

“That very night before you came.” 

“You blamed old beggar you, to preserve the countenance 
you did when I told you about the girl, and knowing all the 
while that the finding of her would lose you Halfway! 
How do you do it ? You must have properly belonged to the 
Stone Age !” 

“I had the night before for thinking upon it, and have had 
all the nights and the days since.” 

The other’s old whimsical face grew light with a passing 
emotion of pride. “Had it, and not a soul beside yourself 
know of its existence, and still have it! No one the wiser 
if you had tucked it away again while you lived your own 
life out as Master in your rightful home. Yet here you are 
telling me of it as cool and open as though it was no more 
than a woodpile you were going to chuck ! If you were ever 
charged with any wrong deeds, you’ve sure cleaned off the 
slate now by this thing you are about to do, and I wonder if 
it’s best to carry it out this sudden, for they are mere children 
yet, and don’t need property for some years to come.” 

“It shall not bide a night longer in my mind,” said Garret 
Wisdom. “If the bridge can be put safely across so Lisbeth 
can be driven over, send her to us and let her stay the night 
at Halfway with Joan. Take the will back with you and 
have Orin tell her the story of her people, our own race and 
the wild one, and of the will as well — then when they return 
here we will talk it over together, and decide our course.” 


CHAPTEB XXXV 


A GAY SINGING HEART 

W ELL was it for Lisbeth that she beard tbe tale first 
from Orin Wisdom’s lips. Ho idle words of scan- 
dal bad ever preceded it to breed distrust or dislike. And 
Orin Wisdom, dwelling upon bill tops all ber life through, led 
the girl up also to them, out of tbe darker vales of tbe hap- 
penings between; linking ber lightly, though not tbe less 
loyally to tbe gipsy race whose blood coursed ber veins, 
leaving ber at tbe story’s close neither scornful nor ashamed 
of tbe wild strain, but thinking of it as past, and long past, 
while in this new pulsing wonderful present she was bound 
now by kindred ties with ber who spoke ; with beautiful Joan ; 
with Halfway whose big old rooms bad echoed once to tbe 
sound of ber mother’s childish feet, and drawn with luring 
love ber own ; best of all, and most wonderful, with its stern 
faced handsome Master, who even in that one interview where 
be bad scorned ber very presence, bad by some strange re- 
versal of retribution drawn ber to him with admiration 
yearning and unafraid. 

In this spirit she met him, she and Joan sitting side by 
side upon tbe old settle within tbe wing room, bands clasped, 
hearts warm, faces upturned with love toward him who spoke. 

He spared not himself in tbe telling, baring before them 
tbe events that bad been chief factors in setting bis feet in 
solitary places; making no excuses for tbe unyielding in- 
domitable will that bad mastered all bis actions. 

When be told of bis sister Joan, ber beauty and radiant 
girlhood, Lisbeth turned to Joan with admiring glance, for 
she bad already been shown tbe old painting in tbe loom-room, 

405 i 


406 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


and had seen the resemblance. And when he spoke of the little 
brown-faced sister whom, when no woman of his family was 
left at Halfway to care for her, he had turned hack among her 
people in the forest ways, enduring remorse for the deed all 
the years of his life since, and believing that for judgment of 
it no children of his own had blessed his fireside, hot tear- 
drops plashed from their young eyes upon their soft cheeks, 
and they started with common impulse toward him, but 
'he stayed them with restraining hand till his story should be 
, through. 

“And now Halfway is mine no longer,” said he, his voice 
firm and steady, but the hands upon his chair arms tight 
clenched and chill. “By the will we have found, it and all 
that is contained therein, passes to you two. I make no 
complaint. Under my father’s other one I inherited at the 
cutting out of others. Now it is their turn. 

“One thing only, will I speak of, on my own behalf. The 
portion that by common law would have been my sister Joan’s 
I long ago set aside in her name, in money value ; it is still in- 
tact ; and much did I spend beside in these later years seeking 
ito locate her, but she seemed to have sought to cover up all 
trace of her whereabouts until through a mere happening I 
heard of her grandchild and following up the trail got Jo-ann 
back to Halfway. The portion my little step-sister and her 
mother would have had, has been paid over and over through 
the long years, to those of her people who cared for her, and 
to many another wayfarer since, in her memory. 

“But that is all done with, now; we have a new life 
stretching ahead, and what I want to have you know is that 
unreservedly and without any murmur I relinquish to you my 
claim on Halfway. I have plenty besides to keep me, and we 
can later discuss the best plans and disposition of your af- 
fairs, but from this hour on, the house of my father’s and 
, yours, belongs lawfully to you two alone.” 

Joan, who knew somewhat of his inordinate pride in the 
great house, who understood by her own upgrowing love for it 


407 


A GAY SINGING HEART 

how he joyed in the ownership and to dwell therein, was swept 
off her feet with the fulness of his renunciation, and giving 
Lisbeth a nod as if a signal between them, the two sprang 
forward to his chair. 

“O, you blessed Uncle Garret/’ she cried. “You don’t 
have to give up Halfway, for there isn’t any will, now.” 

“I do not understand you, Jo-ann — We will not trifle over 
so serious a thing,” said he, the masterful ring coming quick 
again to the old voice that had been sounding only sad or 
tender notes during his recital. 

“Uncle Garret,” said Lisbeth, her dark eyes with their soft 
sunshine meeting his own as she spoke the unusual word, 
spoke it so longingly and fondly that his own heart warmed 
with love at her surrender. “Uncle Garret, Joan is right 
about there not being any will. We burned it up.” 

“Burned it up ! What do you mean ?” 

“All to ashes,” said Joan, “up in the loom-room, the very 
place where I found the bad old thing. And now it’s all done 
with, forever!” 

“I assume that Jo-ann did the burning, it sounds like one 
of her ways of settling things. But the mere destruction of 
the will does not do away with its provisions, since we are 
all well acquainted with them.” 

“Joan did think of it first,” said Lisbeth, “for she always 
knows such lovely things to do, but I was just as glad to have 
it done as she was, and we each put a match to it together. We 
don’t want Halfway, and we won’t take it, for our own. We 
couldn’t, Uncle Garret.” 

“You see if we were what Uncle Amsey called the only 
claimants,” urged Joan, “then we had a right to do what 
we pleased with the will; and that did please us, so, Uncle 
Garret. It’s just another of the old spooks gone; the cloth 
was one, and the water-pipes two” ; checking them off upon 
her small fingers, “the ‘thirst’ is going to be three, for we can 
all knock it off now because not one of us has got left a 
‘caricing care or a dark deed to brood over like old J em said 


408 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


were the kind who had it worst; and the will is four. So 
now we’re clear of them all and can go on and be happy. 
Uncle Amsey said you ought to know yourself that it couldn’t 
he what he called ‘proved/ because you had been in possession 
so long, and he said you wouldn’t he blamed a hit either for 
holding on to it. But you didn’t, and 0, it was splendid to 
give it all up like you did !” 

“I did only what was required of me by right and justice,, 
and do not choose now to stay my hand,” said he. “The text 
of the will shall be my law, even if unbound by the instru- 
ment itself. I abide by it still. Halfway is yours.” 

“0, but you can’t, you can’t!” cried Joan, with a flash of 
her defiance, yet tender and sweet withal, sitting upon his 
chair arm and leaning her warm young cheek for a moment 
against his own. “It’s on account of our name, too, that we 
did it, the dear lovely name that Lisbeth and I are so proud to 
have. For all the people around to know you didn’t own 
Halfway any more, would make such a story for them to tell ! 
And we wouldn’t want to live here without you ; it’s because 
you are the head of it, you know, that makes it seem so grand 
and lovely to us both,” and Joan smiled the flower smile upon 
him from her place of vantage. 

But it brought her no reward, and he made her no response. 

“It’s almost time for supper,” said she, “and I ought to 
go see what Amanda is getting ready, for Pelig is coming 
and he’ll just only have time to eat and that’s all, before he has 
to get away again. But I’m not going to stir a step, to do any- 
thing, until you tell us you’ll let things go on just the same 
way. You can take care of us both, and give us lots of 
dollars to spend, and each of us a horse to ride, and lots 
of other things we’ve always wanted— but we want you to 
give them to us, don’t you see, Uncle Garret, because neither 
of us has ever had a mother or father to do it for us. We’re 
never going to tell a single soul about the will, or what we 
did with it, except of course, Aunt Orin and Uncle Amsey. 


A GAY SINGING HEART 


409 


And Halfway is all yours again and yon shall love us just 
as hard as ever you can to make up to us for it.” 

The old Uncle looked half sadly, half proudly into the 
deep blue eyes that lent so lovely a light to her small face, 
and reached out a hand for Lisheth. “So many of those I 
loved and lost, and the ways that I love, are hound up in 
you both,” said he, “that I find it hard to deny you in this 
thing you ask. It shall he as you wish, about the inheritance, 
hut is all the same in the end, for to-morrow I will draw up a 
will that shall leave all I am possessed of, equally, to you both, 
and should I die meantime, the law will give it. Does this 
satisfy you ?” 

“O, thank you, thank you ! And Fm going to give you a big 
hug now to make up for all the times I believe I really wanted 
to hut didn’t dare!” answered Joan. “Lisheth can have her 
turn after I’m gone. Isn’t it beautiful that she is a real 
cousin to me ! And see I told you her cheeks had the love- 
liest roses in them and that she was dear as could he, and 
they really and truly are Wisdom roses now, aren’t they, 
Uncle Garret?” 

“Yes, Wisdom roses in very truth, Jo-ann, and Wisdom 
graces in all you both do, to shame an old man of the race 
who was forgetting them. Send Pelig to me when he comes 
in. And while you are out Lisheth and I will get acquainted.” 

That night, when Pelig had returned upon his way, and 
all things were settled in order in the Halfway household, 
while Lisheth made ready for sleep upon the big four 
poster, J oan stole softly down the long stair and tapped gently 
at the wing-room door. 

“Enter, Jo-ann,” said the Master of Halfway. He had 
risen from the chair on which they had left him hut a few 
minutes before, and was standing before the hearth, his gaze 
upon the old portrait above it. “Supposed it would he you,” 
said he as she crossed the room and stood beside him. 

“I thought I would come and say good-night to you 


410 


JOAN AT HALFWAY 


again, all myself, this first night, Uncle Garret. And I 
wanted to ask yon just three or four things, so we could start 
out all fresh and straight in the morning, you know.” 

“My sins remembered no more against me — is that what 
you mean, Jo-ann? It surely will he a new day. And I 
expect those three or four things are duly catalogued and 
listed, as usual ; so what is the very first ?” 

Joan gave him her look of perfect understanding. “It 
was about Phoebe. She comes back so unexpectedly always, 
and might get here before Pm up, even. Will we tell her 
everything about what has happened, except the will, of 
course.” 

“Phoebe will find out everything even if we do not tell her 
ourselves ; and so except about the will, which you two have 
decreed shall he null and void in effect as well as in existence, 
we may as well let Phoebe have the story straight through !” 

“O, I’m so glad, because she is good as good can he to me, 
now-a-days. And I thought, Uncle Garret, that we might — 
all of us he getting on better with her, after this.” 

“Meaning myself, I assume! Well, Jo-ann, I’ll not exact- 
ly subscribe to that. Phoebe and I shall have our daily bout, 
as usual ; it has become a habit of our life these late years, 
neither of us suffering thereby. I’ve no wings growing yet, 
J o-ann, and I rather fancy that the rest of you will fare better 
if she and I vent our strong wills upon each other. Do you 
understand ? Put the old grievance removed, and communi- 
cation opened up between the two houses, will not leave as 
much time as formerly, nor so much ground, for disputings 
and broodings, so you may ease your mind somewhat, along 
those lines. What was the second on the list ?” 

Joan uttered a sigh of foreboding in spite of herself, for 
that way lay danger. “Aunt Orin wants us to go down there, 
for supper to-morrow, instead of their coming up here, as 
you planned. She thinks, Uncle Garret, that it’s your place 
to go there, first, since they never really shut you out, she 
says. And you won’t mind, will you? I thought I would 


A GAY SINGING HEART 


411 


ask you about it alone, instead of before Lisbeth, so if you 
didn’t like the idea, you could say it just to me.” 

Tbe Master of Halfway meditated a moment or two upon 
it. “I see,” said be. “Orin is on ber dignity. I can’t say 
tbat I actually like tbe idea, Jo-ann, but I admit ber claim. 
So we will go down to tbe Island to-morrow ; does my answer 
suit you ? And wbat would you bave done bad I refused ?” 

“I guess I would bave bad to think up some other way to 
get us together, for I wouldn’t want to hurt Aunt Orin’s 
feelings. She is so grand and lovely. But I’m so glad 
you’ll really go. It’s a beautiful place, tbe Island bouse, 
and I love it a lot — but not as well as I love Halfway, because 
this is my really first borne.” 

“Aunt Orin is going to ask Cousin Louisa and Alexander, 
and of course Phoebe and Captain Nat if Phoebe gets back 
in time.” 

“Which will be quite proper, and much to my liking. Both 
Alec and Nat aided greatly in tbe search for Lisbetb’s par- 
entage, Amsey tells me, and they will naturally want to be 
first to see ber established in tbe family. No others I hope, 
Jo-ann ?” 

“Aunt Orin did want tbe minister, but Uncle Amsey 
wouldn’t bear to it — said there would be trouble brewing 
straight off,” replied Joan, “so Aunt Orin said tbat perhaps 
be was right.” 

“As undoubtedly be was. I note that Amsey has not failed 
in bis memory. In bis day and generation, Jo-ann, be knew 
me fairly well. I would not be in a mood for anyone beside 
tbe family tomorrow. As time goes on we will enlarge tbe 
circle, and then tbe minister shall be tbe first one bidden.” 

“We are to bave tea up in tbe beautiful round room, Uncle 
Garret, early, you know, and a fine supper downstairs, after- 
ward, on tbe queer chair-table. Martha is going down all 
day, to cook and bake for it. It will be splendid. I love a 
party so.” 


412 JOAN AT HALFWAY 

“You shall have some fine ones here at Halfway — later on 
— Jo-ann.” 

She understood what he meant, and did not answer for a 
bit. 

“That was a beautiful one we did have, wasn’t it ?” said 
she after the pause when each of them was thinking of the 
little quiet and clever hostess of it. “That was the very first 
time I thought I’d like to love you, Uncle Garret. You 
looked so splendid, and you were so fine to Pelig,” and then 
fearful lest she might overstep, was silent again. 

“The third — was there a third on your list ?” he asked, with 
the scales fallen from off his eyes seeing already what a 
comrade she was going to be to him. “Or are you quite all 
settled now about the worries, Jo-ann ?” 

The dimples that hadn’t deepened in her cheeks for many 
a day, showed themselves for his undoing, and evidently this 
third was the greatest of them all. 

“It’s my name, that way you say it. I do wish you would 
say it like everybody else does, and the way I like myself. 
Ho you suppose you possibly could, Uncle Garret, now while 
we’re starting out kind of new?” 

“But I like my own pronouncing of it best,” said the great- 
uncle, not undone by the dimples. And then, as they with- 
drew from sight and a shadow fell over the cheeks as when 
the sun shines not, “Suppose you think of it as my own 
special love-name for you — all the others to call you Joan, but 
only your old Uncle who is beholden to you for a new grace 
of heart, to call you Jo-ann.” 

“O, what a dear nice Uncle Garret,” she said, smiles chas- 
ing away the shadow. “To think of that lovely way out of it ! 
I wouldn’t ever, ever want you to say it like other people now. 
And hasn’t it been the loveliest day ? There’ll be an awful 
lot to pray about to-night, I guess.” 

“You pray, do you?” asked he quietly. 

“Of course. Sometimes it’s to ask, and sometimes to thank, 
but often it’s just to talk it over, and I like those times best, 


A GAY SINGING HEAKT 


413 


for you get more out of it ; it smooths things as you go along, 
instead of waiting for a great big snarl to he got out of the 
way all at once, you see.” 

“I see, but I do not know, Jo-ann.” 

“I wish you would, Uncle Garret.” 

“I wish I might.” 

“Well, if you want to, and do, why, that’s all there is to 
it,” said she who had “sought” out of loneliness and for 
direction, and had always “found.” 

“Well up in theology, too, I perceive,” said he, with the 
new friendly smile. “You have a solid little head. I wonder 
where you would have got all those ordered workings of it, 
so young.” 

“Must be because it’s a Wisdom one,” said Joan, dropping 
it down an instant, dark braids, blue ribbons and all, upon the 
old arm that had not known such a treasure these many a year. 
“For I haven’t ever had any chances much. I’m just a 
‘waif’ — Lisbeth and I, you know,” with the crooked smile 
that had the daring quirk to it. 

He noted the allusion. “Wisdom waifs,” corrected he. 

“That makes all the difference, doesn’t it? And Pelig 
is another, three of us there are now, for you to be helping 
on in the world. How will Lisbeth and I learn things? We 
won’t want to leave you to go away to school.” 

“I have been thinking about that. I’ll ask my friend the 
Schoolmaster to come stay with us this winter. He can run 
at large in the third story, and not be in our way, nor we in 
his. He will teach you the solids, and you can go to Orin 
for the graces and heroics. He’ll keep me company too, and 
let you be free to ride your horses and spend your silver dol- 
lars and be gay and happy here in the few years left you 
before some man will carry you off.” 

“On a ‘black horse,’ Uncle Garret! I’ll not stir a step 
with any man unless he lets me run away with him on a 
black horse, like that first grandmother Joan came here. 0 
dear, I hope we’ll all live a thousand years ! For one bit of a 


414 


JOAJST AT HALFWAY 


shorter time would not give me a chance to love you and 
Halfway and Lisbeth and the Island and all the rest of the 
beautiful things that have come to me for my very own !” 

And Joan said her good-night, and was gone from out 
the wing rooms, whence she had fled so many a time with 
sore and troubled thoughts, in and out which she would pass 
for many a year yet in grey old Halfway, but always carry- 
ing about with her, then as now, her happy singing heart, and 
the touchstone that could turn the drear and barren things to 
green and gold. 

















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